L4D A Christmas Carol
by xmodius
Summary: Francis has always looked out for number 1, considering his new friends only a temporary crutch until they escape the zombie apocalypse. But when his life is threatened and his soul hangs in the balance, will he find the strength or the will to change?
1. The Fallen

L4D – A Christmas Carol

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story (except the ones I've made up). All game characters are property of Valve. Also, while this plot is partially my idea, it is one story of many that has its roots from the plot of, "A Christmas Carol," by Charles Dickens. While no one technically owns rights to that story (that I'm aware of), I'm certainly not claiming this entire story to be completely original. Plagiarism is naughty, like pissing in your neighbor's vegetable garden._

A/N: The idea for this story struck me while watching a cartoon based off of A Christmas Carol (God knows there's so darn many knockoffs now). The idea of combining this with the original Left 4 Dead characters seems like a fresh idea to me. Unfortunately this story probably won't be finished 'till sometime in January (if at all, please review if you want more, anonymous reviews are enabled), but I figured I could at least get the first chapter published before Christmas. This story is rated M for language and potential adult situations (just covering my ass, I don't know where I'll go from here). If you're underage, close-minded, deeply religious, overly nostalgic, etc. go read something else. If you're a flamer, "Hah, Bumhug!" to you, and may you find sugar-coated reindeer poop in your raisin bran. Everyone else, enjoy!

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Chapter 1 – The Fallen

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Francis hated snow.

He sniffled bitterly, breathing in the cold winter air as he and his group made their way down the desolate streets. The late December snow was falling steadily, sticking to the cracked asphalt as well as the numerous destroyed cars and dead bodies littered about, reinforcing the urgency to press onward. It was crucial to find a safe area to rest in soon, as night was falling faster than the snow. The harsh conditions were becoming less favorable by the minute to the four gun-toting survivors.

Despite the winter weather, the apocalyptic zombie wasteland the city had become was a chaotic dream to the anarchistic biker. No law, no order, and the freedom to put a bullet or shotgun shell into anyone that didn't appear human. It was like the worlds biggest bar fight, but at the end of the night no one had to clean up the mess.

Or so he thought...

It turned out karma had a "personal bar tab" lined up for him that he was constantly paying in the way of the other three people he was essentially forced to run with; he hated "personal bar tabs."

More accurately, Francis hated teamwork.

The crude, tough biker hated a lot of things: hospitals, doctors, lawyers, cops, stairs, elevators, vans… so many that it was simpler to list what he _didn't_ hate, and among those the list was hardly lengthy enough to even be called such. He never seemed to have a valid reason for the things he hated, but in his own mind, there were many things to hate about teamwork. The first was simply being close to other people. He was a loner by nature; it went with the territory. Most bikers in general ran with their own pack, and even in their group they weren't exactly the "chummy" types, but Francis was different. The couple friends he once had called him "the lone wolf," a nickname he took pride in. Although it was only three other people in this new group, he felt like he was constantly bumping shoulders, literally and figuratively. He always had to keep his attitude in check, lest he bare the scolding and scrutiny of his comrades; another thing he hated. Sure he tried to joke around, but it nearly always came off as him being brash or arrogant to the others. It wasn't that, so much as it was just his personality. That was something else that bothered him, the pansy attitude the group seemed to have. It seemed like no one could take a joke or lighten up, and while the circumstances might've been an excuse for some people to be all pissy and on edge, to Francis it was just plain weak. And only the weak needed to stick together in groups.

Teamwork meant sharing as well, a notion that was largely foreign to the 30 year old bar-brawling tough guy. When a teammate found supplies, they would always shout what they found so others could take part. Francis had found a spare room the others missed, and he was quietly stuffing his pockets, hoarding whatever he could since it would increase his chances of surviving when he would ultimately be alone. He honestly didn't believe his teammates would survive this ordeal.

First, there was Louis, a young "white-collar" African American systems analyst, the type who'd probably never been in a scrap in his entire life. His constantly positive attitude was very irritating, and more than once Francis had to resist slugging him whenever he wore that shit-eating grin.

Then there was Zoey, a younger freshman college girl who was all about horror movies but damn sure couldn't act the part now that she was "starring in one." Then again, most women in those movies were helpless and afraid… Zoey was just afraid; but at least she was a crack shot when she was able to keep her cool.

Lastly, the group's unofficial leader Bill, an older-than-dirt war veteran who smoked more than a chimney burning newspaper, and although he had combat experience, his age was working against him. The biker thought of himself as the only ideal person to handle the situation: Tough, cynical, realistic, old enough to have experience, and young enough to put it to use. Essentially, everything his teammates lacked, all wrapped up in one tight, tattooed, muscle-bound, leather-wearing, zombie ass-whipping package.

Teamwork also meant helping and being helped by others, a double-edged sword that both bolstered and hindered his macho exterior. It was all well and good when he covered someone else's back, whether it was shooting down a charging common zombie who'd gone unnoticed or sniping a ferocious cat-like zombie hunter off a pounced teammate, either way it gave him bragging rights and the chance to goad the shaken member about their carelessness. Even then, he didn't get to thoroughly enjoy it, as the other members would typically criticize him for being too harsh, especially when it came to the young college girl. When the tables were turned, however, it brought him down to the level of his comrades and was a painful reminder that the biker was neither invulnerable or infallible, and certainly not as brave as he put forth.

Unbeknownst to him, the worst of these moments would be brought to bear as he finished looting the now ransacked room. Walking outside, he noticed his comrades were nowhere in sight; he must've taken longer than he thought. Just as he was about to call out, a slimy droplet fell aside his cheek. Looking upward, he saw the tumor-covered face of a smoker, glaring at him from atop the building. True to his name, he had an aura of green smoke surrounding him. He coughed and hacked, twitching his long, serpentine tongue which dangled a good three feet from his mouth, dripping with slimy saliva. Francis raised his shotgun, but not fast enough. The coughing infected "sniper" got the drop on him, grappling him with that super-long fleshy noose of a tongue that shot from his mouth like a cobra's strike. It wrapped around the biker's body and neck, choking him as it lifted him a good 15 feet off the ground. He tried to call out for help, but his breath was cut short as he was constricted like prey in a python's coils. The incapacitated biker dropped his shotgun, which discharged harmlessly.

Luckily his three partners noticed he wasn't close by, and upon hearing the single shot fired followed by no bragging, they knew he was in danger. Zoey spotted him from a distance with her sniper scope, dangling like a fish on a hook. The young college girl took aim with her hunting rifle, freeing her charge with a well placed shot to the smoker's brain pan. The smoker collapsed on the roof, his tongue slack and lifeless.

Francis fell to the ground, his frantic gasping for air attracting the attention of a horde of common infected. Just as he removed the slimy dead tongue from his torso, he was overwhelmed by the horde, pinned to the ground as the raged mob began pummeling him. He remembered screaming like a frightened child as his weapons flew out of his hands, the mob kicking and beating on him mercilessly. Zoey, Louis, and Bill took off running towards their fallen comrade, hoping they wouldn't be too late.

Despite his very life hanging in the balance, Francis' already wounded pride hoped the others didn't hear him cry like a helpless lamb at the mercy of the wolves. One of his attackers was an old man, probably in his 70's, but his age didn't make his frantic kicking hurt any less as he repeatedly lodged his feet into the downed biker's abdomen. Next to him was a young blond woman, who was probably quite beautiful at one point, though she was missing most of her teeth now. Her mouth was stained red, and her white Christmas sweater covered in blood. She was babbling incoherently as she ground her heel into his groin. Francis had a painful flashback of one of the many "one night stands" that ended similarly, with broken promises, a broken heart, and sometimes broken furniture. At least those easy broads didn't have a hundred others helping them. He didn't have a chance to see the numerous others who had joined in, some kneeling down to pummel him directly with their fists. One of them kicked him in the eyes, blinding him with pain. His cries for help had ceased, the only noise the cacophonous screams of the mob beating the life from him. Amidst the chaos, Francis heard a faint voice as he began slipping into unconsciousness.

"Get away from him, you bastards!" Someone shouted in the distance. It sounded like Louis, but he couldn't be sure. He'd been whacked in the head several times and could barely hear. It would've surprised him if he was right, he picked on Louis the most. He figured of the three, the junior systems analyst would mourn him the least, if at all. He felt a warm, coppery liquid fill his mouth and it took a moment for him to realize it was his own blood. Funny how he didn't seem to feel any pain, in fact he didn't think he could feel his entire body anymore. He'd remembered hearing that when a person is about to die, their brain releases these "happy drugs"… what were they called? Endorphins. And these 'Endorphins' helped the victim feel comfortable, like falling asleep in a soft bed. Sleep didn't seem like a bad idea, except he probably had a concussion.

The hail of blows suddenly stopped as the mob broke to chase after a faint beeping sound somewhere in the distance. Someone must've thrown a pipe bomb to lure the mob away from him. The crazed infected were drawn to loud noise, like car alarms, machinery, or the beep of a trusty home-made black powder explosive. It was a waste, in his mind, he knew he was finished. His allies would never reach him in time, he was bleeding out fast. He wondered if the three would be able to survive without him. He doubted their chances, but then again they were in better shape than him at the moment. Funny how even now with his life ebbing away he could still be a cynical bastard.

Francis laid there lifeless, patches of the snow stained crimson from the biker's fresh blood. Zoey had reached him first, running in a mad sprint after throwing her pipe bomb. Bill and Louis were barely able to keep up with her. "For Christ's sake Zoey wait up!" Louis yelled, huffing after her. "We have to stay together!" The college girl didn't care. All that she cared about right now was lying motionless in the snow just ahead.

"Oh no, not Francis!" Zoey cried as she slid to her knees in front of the fallen man. "Wake up! Please, Francis wake up!" Her cries sounded like they were miles away. She sounded scared like she often did, but this time it also sounded like she was… sad? The downed biker felt a hot droplet strike his cheek. Was she crying? He wasn't worth tears. She needed to be strong if she were to survive, all of them did. Zoey especially, since the world was in short supply of tough, hot women at the moment.

He heard footsteps as Bill and Louis joined her side. He couldn't move, couldn't even open his eyes, but he could picture the grim expressions they wore. If he looked half as bad as he felt, they'd probably do best to just throw a tarp over him and keep moving. He smelled the stench of cigarette smoke near his face for a moment, but he lacked the strength to even scrunch up his nose.

"He's in shock," Bill said, having placed his hand near Francis' face to see if he was still breathing. "We have to get him inside now!"

Inside where? There were no safe houses nearby. He felt hands moving under his body as he went weightless. What were they doing? It'd be a death sentence for all of them if they tried to help him now. There wasn't time for them to fall apart over one person… over him. Why did he suddenly care if they made it? Was it because he knew he was about to die? He wasn't sure of anything now except he was about to lose consciousness…

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Francis awoke with a startled yell, bolting upright as his heart pounded in his throat. He immediately reached for his sidearm, but found nothing. In fact, there was no one around at all. No survivors, no weapons, no infected, nothing. His panic fading, he tried to orient himself. He was sitting in a small gray room, no larger than a standard studio apartment, with no windows or furniture, save a battered sectional couch, a small table and a dim lamp. The floor was concrete and cold to the touch and the ceiling a dismal gray with water stains of where it tried to hold back the more rainy days. The walls were a flat gray color like the ceiling, dotted with bullet holes, burn marks, and stains caused by lord knew what. There was debris scattered about, empty fast food containers, adult magazines, beer bottles, and condom wrappers. It reminded him of his old buddy's "party shack," Mike. The man drank to live and lived for drinking… well that and fucking… and stealing, and scamming, and looting, and drinking, and fucking. Yeah he liked his booze and his bitches, Mike did.

Mike and Francis were partners in crime, so to speak. The two of them made their way through life hustling, stealing, conning, drinking, screwing, and essentially living every day as though it were the last. The two bikers found an abandoned apartment building with a room that was just decent enough to pass for having sex with drunken sluts they picked up at the bar. They could bring them here for a quick screw and not have to worry about retribution the next day. It was also a great place to hide from the cops after a robbery gone bad. Although they were thick as thieves, Francis and Mike never did trust each other completely. It was just enough to do business together to meet each other's selfish ends.

Yes, there were a lot of memories in this old room. He went for the beer fridge that should've been by the couch, hoping for a cold, inebriating refreshment, but found only a less faded outline of gray paint where the three-foot high fridge should have been. The fridge wasn't the only thing amiss; the biker could smell it. Francis slowly realized this couldn't have been their old room. It was missing something very important: a door. Where the door should have been was a scorch mark in its outline, as though a fire had occurred just outside and the wall had been built over it. No doors, no windows? How the hell did he get in here? The last thing he remembered was being beaten to death by an angry mob of vampires... strike that, zombies. He touched his face and cheek, surprised to find no pain, no broken jaw, no bruises, nothing. The realization dawned on him…

"So it's true, I've died and gone to hell." Francis said calmly. "And apparently my hell is to be stuck in my old buddy's 'drunk 'n fuck room' without a soul around to keep me company." He shrugged. "I've been through worse," he said, casually picking up a dirty magazine and flipping to the centerfold. Holding the magazine sideways in front of his face, the centerfold fell open, revealing a four page model spread of a naked woman standing by a bed. She was a hot blonde with porcelain skin, huge knockers, and legs for days. Francis smiled, thinking of all the dirty things he'd like to do to her. The magazine slipped from his hands and he dropped it. He cursed quietly, picking it up again. The hot soft porn centerfold staring back at him looked a little different this time. Perhaps it was the amber glow in her eyes, or her blonde hair turned a bleach white, or the row of razor sharp teeth that jutted out of her mouth, or the porcelain skin now a dark gray, or the claws on her hands that were covered in blood. The centerfold winked at him from the magazine, licking her lips, and Francis threw the magazine down like he'd just burned his hands.

"Ok… that was freaky but not too bad." He muttered to himself.

"_Oh that's not even the appetizer," _a voice hissed from nowhere and everywhere. Francis scrambled to his feet, looking for the source of the mysterious voice but finding nothing. _"They like to break in new arrivals by slowly eating away their sanity. Once your mind has been turned to complete shit slag, then they start you on physical pain."_

The room began to fill with an acrid green smoke, which seemed to coalesce into a mass in front of the panicked biker. He coughed as a silhouette of a burly man formed out of the smoke in front of him. He was about six feet tall, with a shaven head that matched his shaven face. His eyes were a glowing crimson with strange black archaic symbols where his eyebrows should have been. He had a sharp nose with thin lips and a square jaw. His thick neck had a strange tattoo down one side, curling around in arcs and swirls towards his exposed chest, the artwork tracing lines along the man's upper pectorals. His entire body was covered in scars, what appeared to be whip marks, knife slices, cuts, and other possibly self-inflicted wounds. He wore a black vest similar to Francis that was open at the front. Black cotton jeans covered him from the waist down, ending at a pair of black, blood-stained, biker boots.

"Mike," Francis said with a half nervous smile. "I figured you wouldn't survive when all hell broke loose. Looks like I'll finally have some company around here."

"_Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you."_ Mike hissed in an off-sounding, demonic voice as he approached the stunned biker. Francis noticed his friend seemed partially ethereal, like a ghost, and wavered unstably as though a gust of wind would blow him away. Francis chalked it up as a hallucination. However, when Mike picked Francis up by his collar and threw him across the room, slamming him hard into a corner, he realized his dead specter friend was as real and as tough as he was in life, if not more so. Francis coughed and gasped for breath, staggering to his feet. Apparently his mind was a bigger pile of shit than he thought if the beatings were starting already.

"Always knew how to make a great first 'impression' Mike," Francis sputtered. Mike growled from across the room, his eyes glowing brighter. Though he'd thrown Francis a good 20 feet, he closed the distance in the blink of an eye like a damn hunter. Picking Francis up again, this time by his throat, Mike lifted him a good couple feet off the ground moving him out of the corner and pinning him to the wall. "Ok, this shit is getting old." Francis choked out, trying only half-heartedly to stop his "friend" from strangling the life out of him… after all, he was dead.

"_Always trying to play the tough guy, even in hell,"_ Mike spat, looking at his old buddy with contempt. He kneed Francis in the gut, knocking the wind out of him then casually dropping him like a bag of flour. Mike walked away a few steps and turned his back, pouting like a child.

"'The hell's your problem Mike?" Francis said with a hoarse voice, picking himself up once more as he tried to catch his breath. "You act as though you didn't really think you were coming he-"

"_I DIDN'T!" _Mike roared as he turned around, so loud Francis thought his eardrums had burst. _"Just like YOU didn't, you ignorant pile of pig shit!" _ Mike glared at him with a look of death, and Francis swallowed hard. He'd never seen Mike so… pissed off.

"Compliments will get you nowhere," Francis half-shouted, unsure of how loud he was talking, since he could barely hear himself after that inhuman roar. The next blow came hard, connecting with his jaw. His face felt like it had exploded, the force spinning him around twice before he fell unceremoniously to the floor.

"_You're one helluva piece of work, Fran. Then again, you always were the weaker of the two of us. Always leaving me to do the dirty work you couldn't stomach." _Mike said with a sadistic grin. Francis hated that nickname, almost as much as he hated being called weak. Picking himself up yet again, he glared at the demon that was once his friend. Realizing he'd finally pierced the biker's tough exterior, Mike continued. _"My problem is that you've done things nearly as bad as me, yet your lucky ass gets a 'get out of fire-whipping, mind-bending, spiked-dildo-ass-fucking, jail free' card!"_

Francis shuddered at that last one, though he was still confused. "Wait, so I'm not dead?"

"_Not yet. Your 'friends' were able to find some shelter and they're keeping you alive… though just barely." _Mike sneered at Francis' scowl. They were NOT his friends, and yet… why was he so concerned about them when he was the one lying in a pool of his own blood? Francis blew it off; no time to question himself if he was getting soft.

"So… let me get this straight. I'm not dead, but you say I'm in hell and I have a chance to get away?" Francis said, one eyebrow arched and bleeding still from the shot to the face he'd taken a moment ago.

Mike sighed. Francis never was one to catch on quickly… it always annoyed him. And as much as he'd like to leave his old "chum" in limbo to figure it out for himself, Mike made a deal with the devil and was bound to keep it. _"Not escape, Francis. You can't escape your fate, however you can change it. That's why I'm here, or rather why you're here and I'm... visiting."_

Francis scratched his head, slowly grasping the situation. "So you beat the stuffing out of me just now to show me what might be waiting for me in hell?"

Mike laughed, it sounding more like a sick old devil's cackle than the hearty laugh Francis remembered. _"No, I did that because I'm pissed that you're getting a chance I never got. I'm here to warn you about your fate. The things waiting for you in hell make my beating seem like a pat on the back. They'll mind fuck you raw till your brains dribble out of your ears, then serve it up over ice."_

"If you hate me so much for all this, then why are you warning me?" Francis asked, skeptical.

"_Because I'll take whatever breaks I can get from the torture I endure for all eternity, plus I made a wager with the big-horned bastard that despite such an obvious warning, you'll still join our ranks. If I win, I'll become an overseer and be the torturer, instead of the victim." Mike said, the sound of delight in his voice._

Francis still couldn't believe all this was happening. He must've really had his head-bell rung by those crazed bastards when they kicked the living shit out of him. 'Surreal,' didn't even begin to describe this. Although Francis may have been slow at times, he didn't buy any of this crap. Still, he knew when it was smart to play along. "So what happens now?" He asked, feigning interest.

Mike chuckled, eyeing Francis the way a lion eyes a sick gazelle. He could smell the false interest off Francis as much as he could smell his fear. This would be easier than he thought. _"You will be visited by three spirits like me, the spirits of time to be exact." _Mike said, almost as though he'd rehearsed the line.

"Why?" Francis asked dryly. "I don't need to hear from any ghost clock-watchers what I've heard from you, that I'm in trouble if I don't change my ways… pretty hard to do now even if I wanted to, seeing as how the world has gone to hell in this zombie apocalypse. It'd be kinda hard to make a list and go apologize to every poor sucker I've ever wronged when they're all just crazed vampires now!"

Mike said nothing, instead removing his vest to reveal his muscle-bound chest and arms. Francis noticed the marks, slits, and gashes that adorned his body by the hundreds. Scars at one time perhaps, though now they seemed to be seeping with a glowing crimson blood, as though they were fresh. Some were tiny, like a mark from a scalpel, while others looked huge, as though his buddy had a chainsaw taken to his skin. He peered at them curiously, suddenly feeling a strange painful sensation on his own chest. Looking beneath his vest and under his t-shirt, he screamed as he saw the very same cuts and gashes appearing all over his chest, then his arms, his hands, and his face. They lit up as though they were on fire, and Francis shrieked in agony, falling to his knees. The pain was unbearable.

"_The cuts you feel are the ones you've marked on yourself." _Mike said, grave seriousness in his voice as he approached Francis who was writhing in agony on the now unusually warm concrete floor. _"My transgressions cover me even more than all the tattoos you ever got to cover your own insecurities, Fran. All that you see upon me are tick marks on the score card I've tallied up for myself in life. For every person I wronged, everything I've stolen, every woman I've scorned, every life I've destroyed, I bear these wounds which never heal! Oh they do scab over, but rest assured they're ripped open again… and again… and again!"_

Francis screamed as the burning pain lit up like a thrown Molotov. As Mike approached, each footstep seemed to make the pain intensify ten-fold. The room was hot, the concrete floor now felt like a frying pan over the flames. He could see Mike's blood-dried boot land near his face as he towered over him. Francis felt like he was on fire, when suddenly he realized he was. Flames were licking at his jeans, consuming his arms, his hands. In fact the entire room was suddenly ablaze, as though a Molotov had actually exploded around him. Mike looked down on him with a sadistic smile as Francis writhed in agony like a burning bug, his fangs glistening in the fire-lit room with no entry and no escape. Mike seemed to be ablaze too, though he didn't show any discomfort. Francis could smell his own hair and skin burning, and he nearly vomited whatever was left in his stomach.

"_We all have free will, Franny boy. If you wish to change your ways, change your outlook on this miserable life, change how you are towards your fellow man, what little fellow man there is left in this forsaken world, you will do well to listen to the three harbingers of time. They will come soon, upon the final hours of the night, should you last that long." _Mike finished with a laugh.

Francis could care less at this point, the pain was so terrible. Noticing Francis wasn't entirely getting the message Mike scowled and rephrased his statement to a question, _"Do you want the pain to stop?"_

"Yes!" Francis cried out, feeling his vision beginning to fade again. He thought he might lose control of his bowels, it hurt so badly.

"_Then get ready for some 'house guests,' and for Lucifer's sake don't soil yourself," _Mike said with contempt as though he could read Francis' mind. _"See you soon…" _he finished, with a demonic laugh, disappearing into a noxious cloud of black-green smoke that seemed to evaporate into the now towering flames that had all but engulfed the room. Francis only caught part of the dramatic exit, his mind mercifully knocking him back into unconsciousness.

A/N: Again, please review. Is it good, is it bad? Click the green button, you don't need an account to leave a review. Silence indicates a lack of interest, so if you want me to continue, please say so.


	2. The First Visitor

L4D – A Christmas Carol

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story (except the ones I've made up). All game characters are property of Valve. Also, while this plot is partially my idea, it is one story of many that has its roots from the plot of, "A Christmas Carol," by Charles Dickens. While no one technically owns rights to that story (that I'm aware of), I'm certainly not claiming this entire story to be completely original. Plagiarism is wrong._

A/N: Ok, a few people seemed to have shown their interest in this story, though it didn't get very much traffic. Then again stories get pushed back so quickly because of all the new ones being published, so perhaps it got buried and unnoticed. That aside, I've decided to post the next chapter for the few folks who are interested and hopefully to spark some new interest by bring the story to the front of the list. Again, if you want more, post a review, it only takes a minute. A lot of us on fanfiction don't just write for ourselves, we do it for the readers. Anonymous reviews are enabled so you don't need an account on fanfiction to leave a review, however I can only respond to reviewers that have an account. A special thanks to the friends of mine on here who have reviewed this, and my other works. You guys are the best.

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Chapter 2 – The First Visitor

"God damn it, he's a wriggly bastard," Zoey swore as she attempted to treat more of the biker's wounds with antiseptic/anesthetic liquid as he struggled. She held her flashlight under her cheek to keep both hands free as she worked, but it wasn't easy. Night had fallen and with the power out, this nightmare was becoming more real by the minute. Although the liquid first aid was designed to heal and dull the pain, it still burned like hell when first applied, and although Francis was semi-unconscious, he was still squirming quite a bit. It took both Louis and Bill to pin him down on the floor so Zoey could treat his injuries. She had to bandage the major gashes fast or he'd bleed to death. Fortunately the frozen snow was an excellent means of constricting the blood vessels, helping to slow the bleed out of what little blood he had left in his body. Being a pre-med student, Zoey had rudimentary medical knowledge, though she never thought she'd be putting it to practical use so soon.

"I think he's hallucinating," Bill said gruffly while struggling to hold Francis' legs down as he tried to kick. Francis was moaning and mumbling incoherently as he fought against nothing. Louis tried talking to him to calm him down, but to no avail.

"Take it easy buddy, you're gonna be ok." Louis said calmly while trying to hold the biker down.

"Mmmm.. rrgh… mii.. miike! Sss… sttopp!" Francis mumbled as he struggled. Louis and Bill exchanged curious glances, their grip beginning to relax, until Zoey snapped her fingers, refocusing their attention.

"Guys he's obviously in a lot of pain and hallucinating. We'll have plenty of time to ask him about this _when_ he survives, so focus! Louis, get some more snow, stat!" Zoey commanded. Louis quickly ran to the door, checking for any infected before scooping up more snow for the fallen comrade. Zoey would be damned if she was going to let anyone die and turn this nightmare into a real horror flick. This wasn't some damn horror film, this was real life, and unlike the movies, all of them were going to get out of here, even the prick no one cared for.

"_Bull-frickin horseshit," _she thought to herself as she'd often heard Bill say. _She_ cared for him. She didn't know why, though she hoped it was more than just some Florence Nightingale Effect crush. While it was in everyone's best interest to keep their teammate alive for the sake of the survival odds, Zoey felt like she had a little more invested in the hard-headed biker. He reminded her of someone she'd lost, someone who meant well even though they did their best to hide it, believing it to be a sign of weakness. She'd seen this before, someone who likely only needed a little more time to realize... She shook her head, clearing the memory that tried to surface. Regardless of "why," she needed to save Francis, for the sake of the entire group.

Louis returned, packing the snow around his wounds to slow the blood flow, saving a little for his forehead which was on fire with a fever. Francis was finally calming down, his body no longer thrashing about, though his breathing was still very rough and irregular, another sign of the shock. The systems analyst used some spare med kit bandages to soak up the snow as it melted; the last thing they wanted was any dirt within the frozen water to infect Francis' wounds.

"Stay with us, big guy," Zoey whispered to Francis' unresponsive form. His erratic breathing was starting to worry her.

Bill sighed, wondering what he could do. He'd already searched the room, finding a few helpful items: some cups and a little stored water, but none of this would help Francis right now. Remembering the painkillers he'd found in that private practice office, he reached into his cargo pants pocket, "Zoey, if we half sit him up, we can get him to swallow one of these pills. It may help him relax more-"

"No!" Zoey said firmly. "He's lost too much blood, no telling what effects those drugs will have on him in this state, it could put him into a coma or kill him." She looked down at her charge, wiping away some of the blood from his light brown-goatee. "He's a tough guy, he can handle the pain." She said, fighting back her emotions.

"Anything I can do?" Bill asked.

"Yes, keep your flashlight on him so I have more light to work with," she said, calming down. Francis groaned, his body shuddering a little as it dealt with the lack of blood. After Zoey finished dressing the major wounds, she did a pulse check. Placing her fingers by his neck, she counted his pulse for the minute. When the minute was up, she looked white as a sheet.

"What?" Bill and Louis asked together.

Zoey trembled, "His pulse is under 30; he's approaching a comatose state. If it continues to drop…" she trailed off.

Bill and Louis looked at each other with grim expressions. Unless one of them could pull a rabbit out of their asses, Francis' life may well be in the hands of the fates.  
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* * *

.

Francis felt cold all over. He awoke with a shudder, feeling goose bumps shoot up his body like a lightning bolt. God, what he wouldn't give for a strong shot of whiskey right now to take the chill off, and to stop him from shaking like a leaf. Looking around, the entire room was as it was before, gray, messy, and miserable. The concrete floor was like ice once again, and there was no evidence of the "hellfire" that Mike rained down on him earlier. Groaning, he stood to his feet, trying to remember what Mike said during those last moments of brutal pain.

"Oh yeah, I will be visited by three spirits of time," Francis said, mock-waiving his fingers about like he was some cheesy ghost under a white sheet. "And they will somehow manage to turn my fucked up life around even though I'm probably going to die in the next few hours anyway." He continued in his mocking tone. He flinched reflexively, half expecting Mike's demonic voice to answer. Instead, a sudden eerie ticking sound made its presence known.

He spotted the source, an old, stained, cherry wood grandfather clock against the opposite wall. Francis never remembered anything like _that_ in his and Mike's old room, it just wasn't their style, also neither of them were very good at telling time on an old fashion face, both of them spoiled by digital read-outs. Not to mention the heavy looking time-piece was huge and even if they both felt crazy enough to haul it up to their "apartment" it likely would've been trashed during one of their drunken fights. Then again, he supposed anything was possible, given all the shit he'd just been through. He slowly walked over to the large time-keeping monstrosity, the ticking turning to a pounding as he drew nearer. By the time he was standing in front of it, the ominous clock sounded more like the steady bang of a colt python right next to his ears. Straining to concentrate against the noise, he tried to read the time on the old faceplate. Although Francis normally couldn't tell time without a digital readout, it was almost as though the time jumped out at him.

"9:59 pm," Francis half shouted to himself over the din, noticing the second hand about to finish its final trip around the face, "About to strike…" Francis froze, he remembered what happened when these old clocks hit the hour mark. He went to turn on his heels, but it was too late.

The clock struck 10, and its chimes resounded like the church bells of the Vatican. It was so loud Francis felt his teeth rattle from the vibration. He screamed, putting his hands to his ears and staggering back as the monstrous clock rang out ten times to announce the hour. When the clock finished its thunderous toll and the ringing ceased in Francis' ears, he swore a blue streak, ending off something like this:

"… table top whore licking motherfucking son of a witch-bitch frick a frack prick with a cherry on top! That shit aint funny Mike!" Francis punctuated, swearing he could hear Mike's inhuman cackle somewhere in the back of his mind. The old clock continued ticking, quietly once more, as though it were counting down every second left to the room's only occupant. Francis looked around, still seeing nothing. No smoke cloud or ghosts or anything.

Except an open window.

Francis looked over at the simple faux four pane window, seeing a starlit sky through the glass. He walked over cautiously, not about to fall for another dirty trick, and peered over the sill. He nearly lost whatever food was left in his stomach. No street could be seen below, not even grass, just the stars. He looked to the left and to the right, everything absent except the night sky. It was as though his little room was floating adrift in space, and it was very disconcerting.

Francis spotted a star that appeared much brighter than the rest. It even seemed to be… moving? Squinting out into the night, the disoriented survivor noticed the star was indeed moving closer, and was rapidly picking up speed. Francis quickly pulled his head back in and shut the window, the star that was once an immeasurable distance away now nearly on top of him. He backed away from the window as the bright light came through with a crash, knocking him off his feet and momentarily blinding him. The light filled the entire room, save for a shapely silhouette that seemed to appear from the center, in front of the window. Francis scrambled to his feet, squinting in the light trying to make out the new visitor.

As the brightness faded and his eyes adjusted, Francis could make out the form of a young woman, probably no older than twenty. She was short, about 5'5" with slightly-longer-than-shoulder length hair that cascaded aside her cheeks and over her bare white shoulders like an auburn waterfall. Atop her crowning glory was a small wreath, dotted with baby's breath and little white flowers. Her eyes were a bright blue, and they seemed to sparkle with the joys of life, excitement, hopes, dreams, ambitions; pretty much everything that Francis couldn't stand in a person, and yet for some reason he was drawn to that ocean blue gaze like a pirate to the open waters. She had a fair complexion, a small pert nose with just a hint of freckling near her cheeks, and a pair of light pink lips pulled into a delicate smile that showed off her pearly whites.

Francis gulped, seeing her shoulders completely bare save for her auburn locks, and for a moment he thought her to be naked. As the light faded away completely, he saw instead she was wearing an elegant white gown with a V-cut lace top that just covered her small yet ample chest, showing a hint of cleavage and exposing her neck and shoulders in a sexy yet classy fashion. She wore a pair of translucent white gloves that traveled the length of her arms, starting at her fingertips and ending below her shoulders, matching the cut off point of her dress. The dress was form fitting over her slender curves, until it reached past her waist where it blossomed out like a white carnation in the spring. At the bottom of this splendor was a pair of dainty white heels to cover her tiny feet.

Francis took in everything within a few heartbeats, and while he ordinarily would ogle such a beauty and attempt some sort of smart pickup line, he found his voice garbled in his throat.

"Uhh… zzahhmm… zzmmh... zzahh," he stammered, his cheeks feeling hot. The woman in white giggled at his obvious shock and embarrassment.

"_A pleasure to meet you too, Francis,"_ she said in an all too familiar sounding voice, smiling demurely. _"I am the spirit of the past."_

Francis finally found his voice, blurting out the single word his lips had fumbled on. "Zoey!? You… you're the first of the three spirits?" Indeed this 'spirit' looked and sounded just like Zoey, except her hair was down and she was done up like some kind of fairy tale princess.

'Zoey' giggled prettily at Francis' darkening blush. _"Actually the spirits of time don't have a physical form to speak of. We were never mortal to begin with, unlike your friend Mike. However, to make my visit as pleasant as possible, I searched your mind and took the form of someone you find the most… enjoyable."_ The spirit finished, smiling coyly and offering Francis her gloved hand.

Francis felt his cheeks flush. He stared at 'Zoey' wondering when he'd ever pictured her looking so dressed up and beautiful. Come to think of it, Zoey was the only attractive woman he'd ever met that he didn't mentally undress, but he'd never 'overdressed' her either. It was creepy that he possibly harbored an image of her like this in the recesses of his own mind and didn't realize it.

'Zoey' cleared her throat, glaring at him with her hand still outstretched. Francis looked at her, scratching his head. She was a spirit, yet she didn't appear ethereal like Mike. Then again, he was just some lost soul, and this was a spirit of time. Scowling, he challenged her annoyed stare.

"What? Yeah you're hot, no doubt about it, but that's not going to change how I treat complete strangers, even if they are ghosts! Or is taking your hand supposed to be some crazy symbolic psycho-analysis of me accepting my inner feelings and acknowledging my tough exterior is just a defense mechanism?" Francis finished nearly babbling, remembering some of the bull-shit theories he'd had crammed down his gullet by the head-shrinks he had to visit every time he got parole after paying one of his many debts to society.

"_You're a lot more intelligent than you give yourself credit for, Francis… except this time you were completely off,"_ 'Zoey' said smiling, causing Francis to grit his teeth in frustration for making an ass out of himself. Wait, when did he ever care about that, and why now?

"_Actually I was just waiting for my kiss, I am under the mistletoe after all,"_ she said with a sly grin, shifting her eyes to a piece of mistletoe that mysteriously appeared out of nothing, floating in midair just above both their heads. _"It's customary for a gentleman to take a lady by the hand then draw her in for a kiss."_

Francis scowled, a gentleman he was not. Though she was incredibly beautiful, something didn't feel right. It was strange; he couldn't put his finger on what was causing the odd hollow to form in his stomach. "Why would I want to kiss a ghost?" He said almost defensively, hoping to strike a nerve. The spirit smiled, her composure unbroken. Francis protested again, "Besides, you…"

His retort was cut off. As though drawn by some invisible force, he found himself gently pulling her by the hand, bringing her only inches away in spite of his verbal denial. He could smell her sweet scent, that of jasmine and natural pheromones. He drank in the beauty on her pale face, those soft, freckled cheeks, the sweet, innocent smile, the sparkle in those baby blues. There never was a person who seemed more… _alive_. His hands went to brush the soft, errant locks away from her face. Her smooth skin felt wonderful on his rough, calloused hands. She murmured pleasantly at his tender touch. He gazed deep into her eyes, awestruck. Everything about her was 'Zoey' in all her delicate form, yet Francis still felt a lingering doubt. She stared back at him with those sparkling blue eyes, her soft pink lips slightly parted in anticipation, the moisture glistening off them. He'd never seen a pair of beautiful lips begging to be kissed as much as the ones only inches away from him. Her eyes fluttered shut as she titled her mouth upwards towards his. He felt her chest press against him, the steady thud of her heart beating fast against his own. He tilted his own head downward, the two of them not even an inch apart. He could smell her sweet breath as it puffed over his rough lips. 'Zoey' was so close he could almost taste her… but…

"…you're not Zoey." He said quietly, gently stepping back. And why did that matter to him so much anyway? This must've been that mental mind fuck Mike told him about, because what he almost did made him feel queasy… but he couldn't understand why.

The spirit looked overjoyed, as though he'd just paid her the biggest compliment in the world. _"There's hope for you after all Francis." _She said, smiling at him proudly. With a snap of her fingers, the mistletoe burst into a small puff of red and green smoke that seemed to drift down like errant snow. _"Come, let's see what happened so long ago to turn you into such a jackass,"_ she said, grabbing his hand and running towards the open window. Francis panicked, realizing she was about to pull him out into oblivion.

"Wait wait! Aaaaggghhh!" Francis screamed as he seemed to fly out the window, his hand locked in a death grip. As they burst into the night air, Francis felt like he was flying yet falling at the same time. He gasped, realizing he was squeezing her hand harder than she had his. Realizing he wasn't going to fall into nothingness, he felt his temper flaring once more.

"I _hate_ flying!" Francis yelled at they soared into the night sky.

"_Oh relax, you big cute baby,"_ 'Zoey' said with a giggle, holding his hand as she seemed to glide alongside him. Francis kept his fear in check, feeling he was safe for now. The two flew over the desolated ruins of Philadelphia. Everywhere buildings were crumbling or destroyed, cars overturned or smashed, and decimated bodies littered the streets and alleyways by the thousands. Suddenly, as though he were looking through a magic spyglass, Francis saw everything change before his very eyes. Gone were the destroyed buildings and wrecked cars, gone were the mindless bloodthirsty freaks. The city looked just as it did in the 1980's. 'Philly' wasn't always in the greatest shape, but people were walking around like they would any other day, casually going about their business. It was night time, and the cars that lined the street had their headlights on, illuminating the still falling snow that was slowly covering the streets and sidewalks. Storefronts were decorated with garland, wreaths, Christmas lights, and beautiful red bows. He could make out the glowing lights of a few Christmas trees in some of the brownstone houses that lined 15th street. Wait…15th street? That was where…

"…_you used to live,"_ the spirit finished quietly, interrupting Francis' internal monologue and pointing to a brownstone row home_. "We're in the year 1984…Christmas Eve. You were just five years old at this time."_

"Yeah," Francis said absently as he took in everything. They were descending now, coming to land in front of the biker's old home.

"I… this is where I grew up!" Francis said, astonished.

"_How about grew older? I don't think you ever 'grew up',"_ the spirit said coyly, earning a momentary glare from her charge. She seemed to have adopted some of Zoey's personality too. Francis looked around at all the busy people who didn't seem to pay the gruff looking biker or the elegantly dressed woman any mind. Even for a city, he figured the two of them would get a few curious glances as an odd pair.

"_No one can see us,"_ the spirit said, reading his thoughts again. _"In fact, you cannot interact with anything here. No one can see, hear, or feel you. The past has been written, and so it shall remain."_ She said solemnly. _"Come, let's look inside."_ The two ascended the stairs, the spirit leading Francis right through the front door as though he were a ghost himself.

They stood in the foyer, staring into the small living room. A picture window was to their immediate left with an electric candle lighting up the small patch of nighttime trying to make its way in. A set of stairs off to the right framed the living room, leading to the upstairs bedrooms. Near the back was a wall with a door to the left that likely lead into the kitchen. In the corner by the stairs was a beautiful yet simple Christmas tree, adorned with lights and ornaments. Beneath its branches were a few presents, and to the right of the tree near the stairs was the television. Across from that was a small three-seat couch. Francis noticed the scent of pine and apple pie in the air, no doubt the delicious combination of the fresh tree and a Christmas treat baking in the oven.

"Francis, you get back here this instant!" A stern, yet feminine voice bellowed. The adult biker stepped back reflexively as a young five year old with tousled light brown hair slid down the banister, a partially wrapped present under his arm. Just on his heels was a girl about the age of ten, chasing after him with a bit of ribbon wrapping and tape in her hand. The spirit of the past, grinned, putting a hand to her lips to stifle a giggle as she watch the chase. The girl finally caught up with the boy, scolding him with a wag of her finger. The boy drooped his head in guilt and resignation, reluctantly handing the partially wrapped present back. The girl kissed him on the cheek, thanking him and shooed him into the kitchen as she ascended the stairs with her package.

"_You loved your sister very much, didn't you Francis?"_ The spirit asked. Francis felt a touch of guilt at her question, especially the way she said "loved" rather than "love." He remembered what happened that night. He peeked in on his sister in the middle of wrapping a gift with his name on it. He overheard her asking their mother for an advance on her allowance a few days earlier so she could buy him something for Christmas. He simply couldn't wait to find out what it was, so when her back was turned he snatched it up like a thief in the night.

"Yeah… yeah I did." Francis said, a slight waiver in his voice. "I still do."

"_Then why did you suddenly stop talking to her?" _'Zoey' asked politely.

"It's… complicated," Francis lied, hoping the spirit of the past didn't know the truth. His gut told him, however, that she knew _everything_ about his past, and the only reason she asked was to see if _he_ really knew everything too.

A woman in her early thirties came from the kitchen, she had dark brown hair that reached her shoulders, combed back into a lose ponytail. Her dark brown eyes and slightly olive-colored skin was perfectly complimented by her full pink lips, all of which surrounded an almost Italian-looking nose. She was slightly chubby, looking as though she'd just finished losing most of her pregnancy weight since her last child. She wore a simple white cotton apron over her casual clothes. She kneeled down to tousle the young boy's hair, faux scolding him about bothering his sister and asking him not to start trouble for his father when he got home.

"Mom…" Francis said in a whisper. Damn it, why were his eyes starting to sting?

Suddenly his vision was obscured by black. Shaking his head, he noticed the obstruction cleared as it moved towards the center of the living room. Apparently someone in a black leather jacket had walked through the front door, right through him. He was a very large man, at least 6'4" and tough as a brick chicken-house. He wore a red bandanna, and had a pair of sunglasses tucked into his black leather jacket. As the man approached the pair, the boy nearly squealed in delight, rushing over to the man and being picked up like a small treasure, hoisted over the man's shoulder. The man leaned in close to the woman, kissing her tenderly. She giggled, his large beard tickling her chin. He called out once, and the girl ran down the stairs, crying in excitement to take her place in his other arm.

"Dad…" Francis mouthed, turning his head away, trying not to lose his composure. His father was a trucker, one who never would have taken the job because he missed his family so much. Unfortunately, it was all he was good at and it paid well enough to support a family. He was away a lot, and that year they didn't expect him to be home in time for Christmas. He worked himself raw to put food on the table for his family, despite the exhausting number of extra hours he spent behind the wheel. Francis remembered his father's one true passion was to own a Harley and go riding on the weekends; a dream he never got to fulfill, his family always taking precedence.

"Mike was right about the mental torture, though I wasn't expecting this," Francis said coldly to the spirit.

"_And why would this torture you Francis? Surely these are happier times, and what's wrong with remembering those?"_ She asked, like a school teacher asking her students a question they should know the answer to.

"Because they're the only _happy _times I remember!" He yelled, turning to face to the spirit, not caring if she saw an errant tear or two on his cheeks. He half expected the family to turn at his outburst, but they continued their happy moment unabated.

As though the spirit had read his mind, the scene suddenly began to blow away like a sand sculpture in the middle of a tornado. The bright cheer was gone, replaced by the same living room but now appeared rundown and rather dilapidated. There were hardly any Christmas decorations up, and those that were looked to be only half hung. The Christmas tree looked neglected as well, the water pan long dry and the tree losing needles left and right. The smell of pine and apple was gone, replaced with the lingering smell of booze. The woman Francis called his mother was now ten years older, though she looked more like twenty years had passed. Her hair was streaked with lines of premature silver, and her face adorned with many wrinkles, both classic signs of stress. Her hands were trembling as she cleaned up errant beer cans around the living room. Francis saw his sister descend the stairs again, now a young woman, a suitcase in her hand.

"Honey what are you doing?" His mother asked, addressing his sister.

"Mom, I'm leaving. I can't take this anymore! Ever since dad died five years ago in that accident, you've thrown yourself at nearly every guy who'd give you a second thought, and the only one you kept was the one who routinely neglects and abuses us!" She replied, exhausted and exasperated.

"You can't just leave me... or leave your brother, alone!" She pleaded. "Your father's passing wasn't an easy thing for me to overcome, and your step-dad helped me… helped us, through a difficult time in our lives. I've been out of the workforce for so long, and the job market's been terrible. Your step-father pays the bills, and he keeps this family fed."

"That's about all he does, that or smack Francis around when he comes home plastered and needs to feel like an alpha male." His sister spat. Francis frowned, remembering many of those nights his step-father seemed to pick a fight for no reason. If there was one thing Francis could thank his step-dad for, it was learning to take a punch.

"And if he wants "other" attention…" His sister looked away, trembling, her mother not quite understanding her daughter's sudden shift of mood. Francis arched an eyebrow, a sudden sickness forming in the pit of his stomach.

Regaining her composure, she continued, "If I could take Francis with me I would… God knows he deserves better than this!" She almost regretted saying that, her mother looked as though she'd been stabbed in the heart. Francis didn't remember this conversation, though he'd been told his sister ran away to "find herself" by their mother.

"What did you mean by 'other' attention?" Her mother asked curious.

"Forget it mom, it's not worth it." His sister said dismissively.

"No, I want to know what you implied by that! A real mother cares about her daug-"

"A real mother who wasn't in denial would know an abusive man when she met one!" His sister abruptly turned away as though greatly ashamed, shivering and trembling. Her mother looked at her in curiosity. Suddenly her face twisted into an ugly mask of sobering comprehension. Francis too felt his face twisting as rage began to boil within him.

"Did he..?" Francis whispered to no one, asking the question he already seemed to know the answer to.

"…touch you?" His mother finished as his sister began to cry, trembling as she nodded her head. Francis expected a number of things, his mother to cry with her, the two of them to unite against his step-father, his mother to pack a bag as well and flee with her daughter, anything except what happened next.

She slapped her daughter hard, so hard she nearly knocked her over.

It sounded like a gunshot in the middle of a library. His sister placed her hand to her cheek, dumbstruck as to what had just happened. Mother and daughter locked eyes for a few silent heartbeats that seemed to last a lifetime. After the moment passed, Francis watched his sister pick up her bags and walk out the front door for the last time.

His mother sobbed hard, but she continued cleaning up the mess in preparation for his step-dad. Francis was absolutely furious, though he wasn't entirely sure with whom. He always suspected his step-father of doing things to his sister, the way she acted around him, the way he never seemed interested in his mother after they were married. One night he thought he saw his step-father being a little too close with his sister. He never knew for sure, but something inside always nagged at him. Now that all the answers were known, Francis felt he was happier being blissfully ignorant.

The argument between his mother and sister raised new questions for the biker. Why did his sister run away? Why didn't she fight back? Was she afraid? Did she feel she deserved it? He didn't know. He'd always blamed himself for her running away. He could have stood up to his step-father for the way he treated his mother, his sister, and himself, but he was scared. He was a scared little boy who let his older sister down. For so many years Francis was convinced, between his mother being stepped on and his sister for running away, that all women were weak, and thus did not deserve any more respect than the promise of a few drinks and a night of sex built upon empty promises for the next morning. Only now he realized, _he_ was the one running, but he'd be damned if he'd admit that weakness!

Francis turned to the spirit trying very hard not to lose his temper. "Why are you showing me all this? These things I didn't know… damn well didn't need to know! Is this the start of my torture for penance? To relive not only the painful moments I remember, but the ones I _don't_?"

The spirit placed a hand on his shoulder, _"Your mother told you your sister ran away, and in a way that's the truth, but deep down you believed there was more to it and you were right. Like I said earlier Francis, you're much smarter than you give yourself credit. Unfortunately, you were too afraid… too… weak?" _She asked, _"to face the truth that it wasn't anyone's fault except your step-father. Instead you focused your anger on women in general, treating them like garbage because the two women who meant the most to you were treated the exact same way."_

Francis shrugged the spirit's hand away while his mother seemed to clean an endless mess, "And who says its any different now? For every woman who rolled over to me, or Mike, or any other man, including my step-father. Why would I show them any respect? My pride is worth more to me than any respect I'd ever show them!"

'Zoey' looked hurt. She had a very sad, yet very angry look on her face. Her eyes seemed to flash like a lightning strike, and her face turned as dark as a tempest out at sea as she spoke. _"Pride goeth before destruction, Francis." _She said in a dark and frightening tone. _"Your pride nearly cost you your life when that horde overwhelmed you; hoping your teammates wouldn't hear your screams for help just to save face. How could you do that to yourself? Or to Zoey?__" _She said, her lips trembling and her eyes beginning to water. _"Look me in the eye and tell me, given the chance, you would treat Zoey the same way you've treated any other woman."_

Francis went silent and turned his head, unable to look at 'Zoey.' She had him there. The Zoey he fought alongside was the only woman he'd met who deserved any respect in his eyes. Not in a million years could he imagine using or hurting her in any way. She was everything he always thought women could not be: strong and independent, yet caring and compassionate. It was a conundrum to the biker, but one he wasn't willing to admit. He glared at the ground, refusing to speak what he felt, putting his pride first.

The spirit looked crestfallen. Her beautiful smile turned to a melancholy frown, her blue eyes watered over with tears, and her hands trembled with anger. She turned her back to the biker and began sobbing. Francis looked around, seeing the house where he spent most of his formative years melt away into a destroyed foundation. The cars and Christmas-decorated storefronts were gone, as were the happy people. It was the streets of Philly as he was most recently acquainted, an aftermath of destruction caused by the mutated rabies virus. The spirit of the past was bawling hard, sitting on the ground like a child who'd lost her parents, her beautiful white dress stained with dirt and smoke. The wind howled like an angry hunter, causing her dress to flutter rapidly about her. Francis felt his vest flap hard against his chest as he crept towards the spirit of the past.

"I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Francis said, touching the spirit on the shoulder. She turned around quickly and Francis screamed, stumbling back and falling on his ass. 'Zoey's tear-streaked cheeks were a dark gray, her eyes a glowing crimson, and her auburn hair now white as fallen Christmas snow. She growled and cried as she stood up, slowly approaching him. Her beautiful hands were now deadly claws, which she drummed against her sides as she approached him. Francis panicked, backing away on his hands and babbling in terror.

"No! No no no! Please don't!" He begged through the raging winds. Though one might've thought Francis was pleading for her to spare him, he was actually praying for the spirit to drop her 'appearance.' He couldn't stand the image of Zoey turning into just another mindless monster. The thought tore his cold heart apart.

"I would never hurt Zoey, ever! She deserves better than this nightmare! She deserves better than me! That's why I hoped they didn't save me!" The 'witch' ignored his pitiful sounding excuses, slowly closing the distance and flexing her claws in anticipation. He backed into a wall he didn't know was there, and as death approached him, she raised her claw high like the grim reaper raising his scythe. Her white hair flailed to the side of her head like windsock in a hurricane.

"_The weight of your pride will drag your soul down into hell!" _The spirit proclaimed with her left claw high above her head and her right extended towards Francis with one finger pointed in accusation, a horrifying mixture of Zoey's voice and the inhuman growl of a witch. _"Make your choice Francis: your pride or your soul!"_ Francis trembled, his lips moving but no sound coming out. Francis screamed as the spirit shrieked, swinging her claw downward, effectively bringing an end to Francis' nightmare.

A/N: What'd you think? Predictable? Unexpected? Do you care what happens next? Review and let me know.


	3. No time like the 'present'

L4D – A Christmas Carol

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story (except the ones I've made up). All game characters are property of Valve. Also, while this plot is partially my idea, it is one story of many that has its roots from the plot of, "A Christmas Carol," by Charles Dickens. While no one technically owns rights to that story (that I'm aware of), I'm certainly not claiming this entire story to be completely original. Plagiarism is wrong._

A/N: Thank you to all who've left such great reviews and are interested in the story. I apologize for this update taking a bit longer than usual. I was cleaning a glass coffee table and I dropped it. When it split, one end swung up and sliced my left thumb right at the joint (kinda like the L4D hand, except thankfully I still have my thumb). Thus typing was pretty much out of the question for a while there, since I hit the spacebar with my left thumb.

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Chapter 3 – The Second Visitor

The situation was grim; Francis was barely hanging on to life. His fever had come down a little, but the loss of blood had dropped his body temperature and he was fast approaching a comatose state. Zoey frowned, trying to think of something… anything to keep Francis alive.

"Bill, didn't you say you found those pills in a private practice office?" Zoey asked in a shaky voice. Her charge's pulse was dropping steadily and his breathing becoming shallow and less frequent.

The war vet wore an expression of confusion. "Yes… but what does that matter?"

"If it was a private practice, there should be a defibrillator and adrenaline shots for emergencies. It's the only chance Francis has to stay alive! If his heart stops, we're going to need more than a prayer to start it up." Zoey said, fearing the worst. "He's lost so much blood, only a transfusion would really help, but I don't know his blood type…"

Zoey froze as she remembered her own blood type: O negative. Her very rare blood type was a blessing and a curse, in that if she ever required blood she'd be hard pressed to find a donor, but she could donate blood to anyone. Francis had a fighting chance after all. _"I can save him."_ She thought to herself. Getting to her feet, she slung her hunting rifle over her shoulder and slipped her twin pistols into her holsters.

"What the hell? Zoey you're not going back out there alone!" Louis said, still kneeling aside the unconscious biker as Zoey turned for the door.

"You're right, so who's going with me?" She asked, turning to face the two conscious survivors, her icy blue eyes colder than the winter snow.

"Nn… no… please don't… ahh… zz… Zoey…" Francis mumbled in what almost sounded like pleading and panic as he attempted to lift his hand, barely lifting it two inches before it fell to the floor. Zoey's icy stare melted as her heart fluttered. Francis' eyes were still closed, and he was likely still "dreaming", but the coincidence of him calling out for her as she was about to leave still warmed her heart. She kneeled beside him and tenderly caressed his cheek, feeling his rough stubble against her soft fingers. "I'll be back tough guy, I promise." She said, barely holding her composure.

"You're not going anywhere. Louis and I will go." Bill said authoritatively, readying his M-16. Zoey started to protest but Bill cut her off. "You have medical training, you've a better chance at keeping him alive than we do. I know what adrenaline shots and a defibrillator look like, lord knows I saw my share of 'human patchwork' in the field. We'll bring them back."

"You need to bring back a blood transfusion kit as well." Zoey said.

"I thought you didn't know his blood type," Louis said, concerned that Zoey was about to take a wild chance with something as delicate as a transfusion.

"My type is O negative. Anyone can receive O negative blood, so I'll be the donor." Zoey said. Louis and Bill both looked apprehensive, but Zoey dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "It's his only chance guys, otherwise we're just holding death off at the door."

Louis and Bill nodded in understanding as they removed some of the furniture they'd piled against the entrance. The door swung open, blasting the four survivors with an arctic wind. Francis shivered and groaned as he turned his head away from the door. Zoey stayed by his side, doing her best to shield him from the frozen wind.

"Pile that furniture up good when we leave," Bill's silhouette said from the door. "We won't be too long, but…"

"Yeah, yeah I know just hurry." Zoey said dismissively, trying anything to hold back her emotion.

The two survivors shut the door behind them, staring across the snow-covered and otherwise vacant-looking street, feeling the dry chill of the wind nip at their cheeks. Bill recalled the private practice office being about a mile, or ten city blocks, away. Unfortunately, a distance of ten blocks would take twice as long given all the carnage the war vet and systems analyst would encounter on their way. The sounds of the infected echoed in the distance, quiet growls and grunts that were muffled like whispers by the fallen snow. The two began their journey at a quick pace, mindful that time was _not_ on their side.

.

* * *

.

"No! Zoey! Don't…" Francis yelled with his hands over his face, bracing for the deathblow that never came. Peeking through his fingers, he saw the spirit of the past was gone, as was the destroyed remains of his childhood home. He was back in the gray room, sitting on the concrete floor, surrounded by four dirty and scarred gray walls with no doors or windows. He was alone again with the eerie grandfather clock ominously ticking away the hour.

The biker slowly got to his feet, still shaking from his encounter with the spirit of the past. He thought about her last words, choosing his pride over his soul. The sheer fact that he hesitated for even a second was what bothered him the most. The choice seemed so obvious, yet he actually had to think about it. What kind of idiot would sacrifice his immortal soul for the sake of his pride?

"I would," he whispered dejectedly to no one in particular. His thoughts went to his mother and sister. Everything that he felt he knew but never could confirm had been laid out in front of him, and he still turned a blind eye to it, believing his mother and sister to be weak-willed women. Maybe they were, but he knew Zoey wasn't, and though he didn't answer the spirit of the past about treating Zoey like garbage, he knew he never would. That had to count for something, right?

Francis suddenly felt very cold, as though a gust of wind straight from the south pole had blasted him on his bare skin, though there was absolutely no place for a draft. He turned towards the source, one of the dirty, gray blank walls…

It felt like his heart stopped.

The blank wall was no longer blank. It was charred and burned in patches, and adorned with bloody splash marks as though the world's messiest bloodbath had occurred just moments ago. Slaughtered bodies were strewn at the bottom, and Francis gagged at the smell. Every face was twisted into a frightening scream with the mouth agape. Peering closer, Francis got a better look at the casualties and almost threw up. Among the dead was his sister, her eyes gouged out and her torso slit up the center like an autopsy cadaver. Francis was shaking as he looked at the next victim. His mother was quartered, though her limbs were nowhere to be found. Her hair was soaking in a pool of her own blood. Her craw was stuffed with human fingers, what looked to be her own. One of them still had a blood-covered wedding band stuck around the knuckle.

The next victim was a very burly individual who was only half a man now, literally. Francis saw his biological father slumped against the wall in a sitting position, though there was nothing left for him to sit on but a pile of his entrails. His beard was stained with blood, his head lolled to one side. Francis felt dizzy, this was becoming more than he could handle. The worst one was a child, no older than ten, who was intact, yet slashed across the throat, his blood pouring onto his tiny frame. His face, like the others, was frozen in an expression of terror, but the mouth was open wider than any ordinary human ever could. Within the child's face, Francis recognized his past self. He promptly threw up, ejecting bile and little else. Wiping his mouth with a shaking hand, he noticed writing on the wall. In the center, written in large, burned letters was a message:

**One down, two to go. See you soon, Francis.**

**-Mike**

Suddenly the forgotten grandfather clock on the opposite side of the room tolled the eleventh hour in a loud, thundering tone. Francis nearly jumped out of his skin from the startlingly loud noise. He covered his ears and turned his verbal rage towards the obnoxious timepiece, yelling and swearing like a sailor with diarrhea of the mouth. If looks could kill, the old clock would've burst into flames from his angry stare.

Finishing its toll, the clock began ticking once more. Everything seemed far too quiet. Suddenly Francis felt something tap his shoulder. He spun around quickly but was greeted by nothing. The horrifying display of gore was gone, and in its place was a grand fireplace. It was an older style, with the brick chimney visible inside the room. There were burned ashes in the hearth, but no fire and no warmth, just a cold draft.

Francis approached the large fireplace cautiously, though it seemed ordinary enough. He was still half expecting something to leap out of the darkness in the hearth. As he drew closer he noticed some errant ash flutter down from the chimney. A slight vibration could be felt in the room, almost like footsteps. More ash began to fall, and Francis could swear he heard a faint voice with a boisterous yet deep laugh echoing from the fireplace.

Suddenly the room shook as even more ash began falling and billowing at the hearth. The confused biker stepped back hastily, just in time to see a rather large fellow fall into the hearth, scattering a cloud of black ash and laughing as though he'd just been tickled.

"_Ho Ho Ho! I am the spirit of the present!"_ The strange new visitor laughed, crawling out of the fireplace and dusting some of the errant ash off his dirty, dark red Santa Claus suit. He wore large black boots, black gloves over his hands, and a classic red Santa hat with the white ball on the end. He was tall, almost a head taller than Francis, and had a rather rotund physique. His long white beard was stained gray with soot, though it was obviously fake. His jolly eyes were a deep chocolate brown, and what little of his face that could be seen was as dark as his eyes.

"Waitaminute," Francis said, reaching forward and tugging on "Santa's" beard, revealing the smiling face underneath. "Louis? What that hell? Oh wait, lemme guess. To make the interaction easier, you chose the form of someone I find the most _annoying_?" He said, with sarcasm in his voice.

The spirit laughed heartily, his stomach shaking like a bowl of jelly. Francis cocked an eyebrow. "Puttin' back those Christmas cookies there eh Louis?" He said, his aloof composure breaking as the spirit laughed even harder. He chuckled in spite of himself, it was rather comical to see the skinny systems analyst so portly that one would ask if he was carrying twins and laughing like jolly ole St. Nick.

"_You always did have a sense of humor. It's good to see a brush with hell hasn't dulled its sharp edge!" _ The spirit said in Louis' voice, mixed with a deeper tone that Francis couldn't quite place. Francis shuddered, thinking about the horrifying display of death that had been laid before him a few moments ago.

"_Yes, I agree that was uncalled for, but your friend Mike likes to gloat when he wins,"_ the spirit said with a hint of melancholy. Francis cringed at those words. He hadn't lost already, had he?

"_No worries, Francis. Best two out of three is what I always say when I lose at poker," _he said, clapping Francis on the back with his large hand, leading him towards the fireplace.

"And how often is that?" Francis asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"_Never." _The spirit shrugged with a smile. _"Ready to go?"_

"Wait. You mean up the… Gaahh!! Hey! Leggo!" Francis yelped as 'Louis' picked him up by the back of his vest with both hands like a rag doll and threw him towards the updraft in the hearth. Like a leaf in a vacuum, Francis found himself being sucked right up the chimney.

"_Mind the reindeer poop when you land!" _The spirit shouted after him with a laugh as he causally approached the hearth. _"I have a good feeling about this,"_ he whispered to himself before flying up the chimney in a flash of light.

Francis landed on what appeared to be a peaked roof of a house somewhere in suburbia. He was lucky he didn't roll off, but falling was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

"Rrrrgghh… Christ that hurt," he yelled, before noticing a steaming pile of reindeer feces a couple inches from his face. He rose to his feet, grumbling incoherently as the spirit of the present appeared beside him. Francis glared, but only for a moment as his attention was suddenly diverted by the sight of a large red sleigh attached to eight reindeer. One of the reindeer casually looked in his direction, puffing out a steaming snort before turning back towards the open sky.

"_C'mon son, time's a waistin'!"_ The spirit said, leading him over to the sleigh. Francis and 'Louis' took their place in the large red sleigh. Clearing his throat, the spirit sounded out, _"On Dasher, On Dancer, On Prancer, On…"_

"Is that really necessary? I thought you said time was 'a waistin'," Francis said in a somewhat mocking tone. The spirit sighed resignedly.

"_You're no fun."_ He pouted as he whipped the reigns. The sled took off like a rocket out of a launcher, causing Francis to yell in shock. The sled soared into the night sky, houses below flew by like snow flakes in a storm. Francis looked over the side to see how high up they were, and he regretted it immediately.

"I… hate… heights!" He yelled as he felt dizzy.

"_Would you like me to hold your hand like 'Zoey' did?"_ 'Louis' asked with a smirk, extending his gloved hand.

Francis growled and kept his grip firmly planted on the front of the sleigh. It looked as though the journey was coming to an end anyway. They landed atop a small office building, probably no more than three stories high. As the pair disembarked, Francis noticed the scratch marks he'd left on the sleigh. "So where are we?" He asked while picking red paint out from under his nails.

"_Come to the ledge and look down; I think you'll recognize where we are."_ The 'Santa Claus' said with a chuckle, puffing on a pipe he'd pulled from his pocket while gazing over the northwest corner of the building. Francis walked over to the ledge and stifled a gasp as he peered into the street below. From the west about 100 feet away, he saw Louis and Bill, carefully making their way down the street towards the building.

"The private practice is just ahead on the left," Bill said as he and Louis scrambled the brains of several common infected with some well placed pistol rounds. The pair was doing their utmost not to draw attention, and so far they'd done a pretty good job. Francis was surprised he could hear them talking; it was as though he was standing right next to them. Francis looked north, across the way to see a small one story office with some doctor's name across the front. Why were they going to a private practice office?

"_Your friends are going there for you, son." _The spirit said quietly, reading his thoughts. _"You're fading fast, but you still have a chance provided they hurry."_

"They're not my…"

"_Yes they are," _'Louis' said firmly. _"Though the four of you haven't known each other all that long, you share a kindred bond that has more in common than mere survival. It's a bond that most people spend their entire life seeking. You may try to act tough and aloof, Francis, but I bet if one of them needed you, you'd help them."_

Francis was about to argue, but fell silent. Though his cynical mind still believed their chances of survival were slim, part of him knew that he'd still try to help them, even if it seemed hopeless. He just couldn't figure out _why_!

"Heh. I'm surprised Louis went along. I don't think he's all that fond of me," he said while scratching the back of his head, trying to change the subject. "Then again, maybe it was intentional. I ride his ass so hard he'd probably try to smother me with my vest if we were alone."

The spirit with Louis' face and similar voice smiled back at him. _"You never did get over that habit of scratching the back of your head when you were nervous. Zoey was going to go on her own, but Bill and Louis insisted she stay behind to take care of you. Not that she's any less capable out there, but I think they sense her… 'attachment'... to you," t_he spirit of present time said with a smile while casually puffing his pipe. Francis actually felt himself blushing. His encounter with the spirit of the past brought him face to face with how he truly felt about the college girl. He smiled fondly at the thought of her watching over him.

Then he heard something that made his skin crawl.

It was the sounds of crying, and it was close. He quickly ran to the northeast corner of the building and spotted the source. At the edge of the alleyway between this building and the next was a witch, sobbing uncontrollably. The buildings were unevenly spaced, which put the private practice office directly across from the alley with the crazed, bawling infected.

"Witch!" Francis shouted in alert. Though he heard his own voice echo across the desolate urban remains, his friends didn't even flinch. They were hugging the front of the building he was standing on, trying to keep alert for Smokers, the infected "snipers." The witch would be less than a few feet away once they reached the edge.

Francis' traveling companion turned to him. "_Pay it no mind, they cannot see or hear you. Besides your friends are alert, they'll be fine."_

"But they…" Francis stopped, watching as they drew closer. Below, Bill stopped and raised his hand quietly, bringing Louis to a halt as they both listened carefully. He nodded over his shoulder at the corner of the building, placing a fist to his eye in a faux crying gesture. Louis nodded and the two quietly backtracked a few feet before crossing the street and disappearing inside the private practice office. The witch never even noticed the pair.

"Let's follow them," Francis said. The spirit smiled, discarding his pipe. With a snap of his fingers, the two were instantly standing next to Louis and Bill. The pair of survivors searched the office carefully for the supplies. The defibrillator was found almost immediately, since it was an emergency item and needed to be readily accessible. The power pack still showed a full charge, enough for at least five shocks.

The rest of their search seemed to turn up nothing. The situation looked grim, until they found one final door. The sign read, "Medical Supplies. All staff members must log equipment use and track consumables."

"Damnit, it's locked!" Louis said in frustration, trying the knob a couple times then slamming on the door.

"Don't worry, son. I brought a skeleton key." Bill said casually. Louis stared at him confused until the war vet leveled his M-16 at the door and blasted the lock with a couple well placed shots. As Bill pulled the door open, Louis' expression shifted into one of utter bliss. His lower lip trembled and a tear began to form at his eye. His hands trembled in anticipation like a cat ready to pounce. Bill, Francis, and the spirit of the present all stared at him with one eyebrow raised.

**"****Pillz here!**" Louis said excited. The shelves were lined with bottle after bottle of the generic painkillers. He worked fast, stuffing his pockets. Bill and Francis shook their heads in disbelief.

"Step aside son," Bill said, pushing his way into the supply room. Scanning the shelf he found several large capped syringes labeled "epinephrine (adrenaline)." He promptly stuffed them in his cargo pants pocket.

"Here's the blood transfusion kit," Louis said, pointing to what appeared to be a blank red bag.

"I didn't know you had any experience with medical equipment Louis," Bill said surprised.

"I don't," Louis quipped.

"Then how do you know that's a blood transfusion kit?" Bill asked.

Louis smiled, turning the bag over and pointing at the label on the other side which read, "Blood transfusion kit."

Louis tucked the bag under his arm. "We gotta hurry and get this stuff back for Francis," Louis said, as he and Bill hurried down the halls towards the exit.

The reception area was just down the hall, but as they drew closer, a loud roar could be heard nearby.

"Tank." Louis said with a tremble in his voice. "Sounds like its right…"

A huge fist punched through the ceiling directly behind the pair, flailing about wildly trying to reach the survivors. Louis and Bill staggered back from the shock, staring in disbelief as the entire hulking mass punched its way through the ceiling. The huge behemoth dropped down, crushing the debris under its massive weight. Its arms were as long as a gorilla's, and were it's primary means of supporting its incredible mass.

"Shit! Run!" Louis yelled, taking off like a bat out of hell with Bill close behind. Francis ran as though his life depended on it, even though nothing could harm him in his current state. The tank roared with rage, and began lumbering after the survivors. The spirit of the present followed nonchalantly, walking at a brisk pace behind the tank.

As Louis burst out the door, the witch in the alley began growling and stirring. He made a hard right, half slipping in the fallen snow but quickly regaining his traction, paying little mind to the stirring witch, wanting only to put as much distance between himself and the tank as possible. Suddenly he ran smack into a huge jiggling mass, sending it and himself flailing off balance. A Boomer was ready to vomit the horde-attracting bile all over the systems analyst, but his own haste saved him. As the Boomer and Louis regained their footing, Bill was already sprinting towards the group.

"C'mon Louis! One side, chubby!" The war vet yelled while body-checking the Boomer's distended gut, making him gurgle and sending him onto his oversized rump once more. The two survivors sprinted for a few seconds until Louis noticed he had dropped something.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Louis yelled, seeing the blood transfusion kit lying in the snow several yards away, quickly turning on his heels. "Must've dropped it when I ran into..."

With a loud roar, the tank burst through the private practice entrance, sending the door flying off the hinges into the alley and landing next to the witch. The witch began yelling loudly, getting to her feet and shaking her claws angrily. The fat Boomer had regained his footing as well and was starting to waddle towards the survivors.

Francis and his spirit guide had caught up to his comrades. Francis' heart was in his throat; he was going to witness his friends' get massacred just for trying to save his selfish ass, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"This is going to hell in a hand basket real fast!" Bill yelled. It seemed hopeless, but Louis hadn't given up yet. Yelling loud to boost his own confidence, he ran towards the tank who was ready to charge. The Boomer in front heaved back, preparing to blow chow, but Louis was faster. He threw himself into the bloated infected, sending him off balance once more right into the approaching tank. Louis scooped up the transfusion kit, backpedaled a few paces, then raised his rifle at the volatile, bloated infected.

BANG!

The Boomer exploded into a shower of gore, the force of the explosion staggering the tank and covering him in disgusting green bile. The screeches and cries of the infected could be heard from all around them, and like rats from a burning building, they poured out of everywhere. Windows, dumpsters, garages, alleys. Everywhere the horde of common infected swarmed angrily to the bile-soaked tank. Recognizing the new threat, the tank swatted away the charging infected like flies, but more would charge in two and three fold to take their fallen brethren's place. Within moments the tank was overwhelmed by the huge mass of crazed infected. Several members of the rushing horde brushed the angry witch in the alley, sending her into a frenzy. Blaming the giant "gorilla" for all the ruckus, she shrieked, running at the tank and pouncing on him like a hunter, tearing into him with her long razor sharp claws. The few common infected who tried to push her aside were decapitated as she focused on her prey.

Bill, Louis, the unseen Francis, and spirit of the present, all watched the carnage, their jaws agape.

"Jesus... age... Christ." The four stated together.

The aged war vet shook his head and slapped Louis on the back. "C'mon, lets get out of here before the bastards are done."

Francis heaved a sigh of relief, watching his comrades take off while the horde was distracted. The spirit of the present turned to him with a smile. _"I noticed you thought of them as friends a few times there, and it looked like you were rather worried they might die."_

"Well... if they die, then I'm finished, so yeah I'm glad they survived." Francis said coldly. The spirit of the present smiled, and patted the biker on the back.

_"You don't fool me for a second, Francis. I could sense your concern was more for them than yourself. No sense trying to lie to me. But, maybe you're lying to yourself." _he said, trailing off in thought for a moment. His eyes lit up with an idea, _"I know what will melt the snow around your heart."_

With a snap of his fingers the pair was transported to the old building where Francis had nearly met his demise. Francis saw himself lying there, nearly comatose, his face deathly pale. If he didn't know better he would have expected to turn into one of those crazed 'vampires' himself. Zoey had removed her pink hoodie, throwing it over his upper half in an attempt to cover him. While it was much smaller than the biker's frame, it was better than nothing. Zoey herself was shivering, her long sleeve white t-shirt doing little to insulate her from the winter chill. She was huddled next to him sniffling, her eyes red and her cheeks streaked with dried tears.

Francis swallowed, feeling that familiar albeit uncomfortable sensation in his chest once more. Why was she crying?

"C'mon big guy, hang in there." Zoey said in a whisper, her voice quivering as fresh hot tears ran down her face. She gently touched his cheek as his labored and shallow breathing continued. "You have to live... I owe you for saving my life."

Francis grunted in confusion. When did he...?

"Remember when I accidentally startled that witch?" Zoey said to her charge, snapping the invisible Francis out of his thoughts. "I was a goner for sure when she knocked me down, but you body-checked her and put almost an entire clip of shells in her head. Somehow I think you were a little overzealous," she said with a tired smile, "You kept asking if I was alright for a good five minutes after that incident. You were even starting to irritate Louis; it was very cute." She said, giggling a little and shivering as the cold bit into her once more.

Francis blushed. He remembered that all too well. He attacked that witch in a frenzy, blasting her brain matter into vapor even after she'd collapsed. 'Louis' smiled at him, placing an arm over his shoulder. _"You really do have one of the greatest gifts a person could ever ask for, son. Under ordinary circumstances, the two of you wouldn't have spared even a minute to get to know each other. Hell, you'd probably gawk at her, and she'd try to avoid eye contact or check her purse for pepper spray." _He chuckled, earning a glare from Francis.

"Ah it's not what you think. She's not upset because_ I'm_ hurt. She'd be the same way if it was Bill or Louis in my place," Francis said quietly, turning away from the scene. The spirit laughed heartily, causing Francis to grumble.

_"You still think you can lie to me, even knowing I can read your thoughts. You certainly are stubborn," _the spirit of the present chuckled. _"Francis, you couldn't convince a stranger on the street that Zoey doesn't have feelings for you, but that's not the point. You've lived most of your life as a selfish person, and only in the time you've spent with these three people have you actually _attempted_ to turn your life around. And on top of all that, you've unintentionally managed to capture the heart of a wonderful woman, a woman whom you aren't worthy to kiss the dirt she treads upon_." The spirit grinned in spite of Francis' grumbling.

_"Can you honestly tell me you'd throw away your life... their lives... _her _life, for your pride?" _The keeper of time asked.

"I..." Francis stammered. He remembered what happened the last time he hesitated answering a question like this, it didn't go well. The spirit stared at him with a very serious frown. "They'll survive without me... hell I'm only slowing them down now. What good will I be even if they manage to get me on my feet again, right?" Francis asked, a bit unsure. "They're all strong, you said so yourself. They'll make it won't they?"

The spirit shook his head sadly. _"I cannot tell you what will happen, the future isn't written. However, should certain events continue as they are along their current path, I see a rescue vehicle with more than one empty seat... and no one on board wearing a red tie or a soldier's beret...", _the spirit paused with a melancholy expression, _"...or a pink hoodie."_

"No..." Francis trailed off, staring at his "nurse." Zoey had laid beside his unconscious form sobbing quietly, looking very sad and very exhausted. She had draped an arm across his chest and was huddled close to him, no doubt to share their body warmth. She was a conundrum of worry and peace, content laying next to him yet crying quietly, afraid he would die in this room. Apparently, she didn't want him to die "alone."

_"There are greater things at stake Francis," _the spirit said with a hint of foreboding. _"The four of you are the only ones immune; the only immune still alive anyway. If there is any hope of developing a vaccine or a cure, its roots will be from the blood of you four. The recovery of the entire human race depends on all of you surviving. No pressure by the way," _'Louis' added quickly with a hint of humor. Francis didn't find any of it funny. He didn't ask for this... then again none of them did. Why did this have to fall on him? Looking out for himself was one thing, but others?

"NO! Damn it! This is a bunch of bullshit!" Francis yelled at 'Louis' poking him in the chest. "You can't make me care about other people! You can't tell me that they're my responsibility! I hate responsibility! I HATE ALL OF THIS!"

_"I don't have to make you care, because you already do." _the spirit said quietly. _"Your hatred is slowly consuming you like a fire consuming coal. You've deliberately amplified your distaste for so many things to make yourself unpleasant to be around. It's a defense mechanism because you're afraid you'll be hurt if you like anything, or anyone, enough to care. __It's the reason you're laying there right now, barely clinging to life." _Francis spat on the ground in disgust, not believing what he was hearing. He didn't need a "defense mechanism," hell he didn't need defending from anyone. The only reason he hated all this was because it hurt, but not like physical pain. Physical pain he could take, but this... this was a mental anguish that seemed to consume him like a molotov fire.

_"That 'fire' will consume everything if you let it, Francis... your friends, your life, your soul," _he said gravely. _"The fact that you're angry _because_ you care should tell you something." _Francis just frowned, staring at the ground trying to take everything in. Why did he care? That bothered him a lot. It wasn't even that he cared about the human race surviving, it was that he cared about his comrades. He didn't want to see Zoey, or Louis, or Bill, suffer and perish at the hands of those bloodthirsty freaks. Now the entire world depended on him surviving, so all of them would make it, for the sake of humanity. What did the world ever do for him anyway that he should care?

But he did care, he cared a lot. And that ate him alive.

The spirit sighed, looking at the unconscious form of Francis and the now sleeping form of Zoey on the cold floor, shaking his head in disappointment. The spirit began to flicker like Christmas lights on an outdoor tree, his body becoming etheral. Francis panicked, trying to grab onto "Louis" but only catching air. "No! Don't go!" The biker yelled, watching the spirit vanish into nothingness.

_"My time with you is finished Francis, treasure what little you have left," _he heard the spirit say from somewhere distant. Francis was standing on the rooftop again where they'd landed, and off in the sky he could see the eight reindeer pulling a red sleigh off into the star-filled sky, leaving Francis in the winter dust. The pain within him felt worse as guilt added its fuel to the flames. He was alone, always had been, likely always would be. His friends would suffer and perish, and it was all _his_ fault. He screamed in anger and anguish, his echoing howl a testament of his remorse to the empty night sky.

.

A/N: Please review, whether you liked it or didn't like it, I want to know. Anonymous reviews enabled.


	4. 4Shadowing

L4D – A Christmas Carol

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story (except the ones I've made up). All game characters are property of Valve. Also, while this plot is partially my idea, it is one story of many that has its roots from the plot of, "A Christmas Carol," by Charles Dickens. While no one technically owns rights to that story (that I'm aware of), I'm certainly not claiming this entire story to be completely original. Plagiarism is wrong._

A/N: Yet again, thanks to those who've reviewed. I love the emotional effect this story is having on everyone. I must confess it is as emotional for me to write it as it likely is for you guys to read it. I really enjoyed this chapter. If you like it, please review.

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Chapter 4 – 4-Shadowing

Bill and Louis moved at a hurried pace through the snow-covered streets with their precious cargo. Bill had slung the portable defibrillator over his back like his first aid "backpack", while Louis had stuffed the blood transfusion kit into his own over the shoulder first aid kit. The cries and howls of the crazed infected horde could still be heard far in the distance as they continued ravaging the bile-covered tank. The bile reeked and its sickly, pungent aroma could be detected from over a half-mile downwind. More than once a crazed common infected would charge right past the two retreating survivors as though they weren't there, preferring to join in on the bile-scented bloodbath further down.

"C'mon son keep it up, we're almost there," Bill said as he casually shot another charging infected who came a little too close to his personal space. The jabbering infected was silenced with a bullet to the brain pan, flipping him end over end and face-planting him into the snow. Louis was running with a slight limp, his heroics from earlier causing him to pull a hamstring. Louis winced with nearly every step. It was only another four blocks or so, but it felt like four miles to the systems analyst.

"Ah I'm fine, just should've stretched before I decided to ram a Boomer and a Tank. You know me Bill, always rushing in blindly... living for the moment," Louis said with a lopsided grin, his words dripping with sarcasm. Bill let out a soft laugh and patted Louis on the shoulder as he continued to scan the surrounding buildings for any threats.

"I'm worried about Francis too, kid." Bill said quietly, knowing full well Louis was describing the biker. "But... he's a stubborn S.O.B. Besides, if he hates death as much as he hates everything else, you know he won't go down easily." Louis grunted in acknowledgment, shooting down a couple common infected that were leaning against the side of a dumpster.

"I swear there are times I wonder if he even cares about living or dying," Louis said casually. "He rushes into everything head first. One might call it bravado or arrogance, another might call it plain stupid, but..."

"I agree, I think he has a death wish," Bill said, taking aim and dropping a Smoker who was climbing a drainpipe to get a better vantage on the survivors. The lanky infected fell with a hoarse screech before hitting the ground, exploding into a cloud of green smoke. "I've seen it before in combat situations," the vet continued. "Soldiers who want to leave a real shitty life behind join up, thinking the military will solve all their problems like a magic bullet. When they realize it doesn't work that way they either try to go Section 8, AWOL, or they just plain snap and try to get themselves killed by being suicidal in combat." Louis looked at Bill confused with his military terminology. "Section 8 means you try to get discharged on the grounds that you're mentally unfit for combat, that is... you're nutty as a squirrel's shit in October. AWOL means Absent WithOut Leave, where you desert your post without permission," Bill explained, Louis nodding his head in understanding.

Bill sighed, "Lets face it son, there is no Section 8 or AWOL to escape this nightmare. The only permanent way out is death."

Louis didn't entirely agree with the war veteran. Sure even if they escaped, the infected would still be out there, but that didn't mean they would have to keep fighting and watching each others' backs for the rest of their lives... did it? He'd never thought about the "What if's?" when they escaped; there really wasn't any time to ponder it. Thinking back, the systems analyst recalled seeing a lot of angry grafitti in the safe rooms, people leaving messages for their loved ones or that certain safe areas were overrun, cursing out C.E.D.A., the military, or other government agencies as being worthless, while others prophesized religious punishment, the day of judgment and all that. But one message seemed to show up damn near everywhere, on every flat surface where someone had enough time to write, or scribble, or spraypaint. Louis remembered seeing the message for the first time in the very first safe room the group took refuge in:

_"THERE IS NO CURE!"_

Louis refused to believe it though. There had to be a cure, and if nothing else his curiosity insisted they all survive to find out if the "writing on the wall" was as accurate as it was obvious.

"Francis is so miserable... hell the guy seems to hate damn near everything." Bill said, cutting off Louis' train of thought. "He would constantly go off alone never announcing where or why, which is suicidal in this situation. How many times did you or I or Zoey yell at him and scold him about pulling that disappearing act of his, and he'd still turn right around and do it again?" Louis simply shook his head, Francis' bull-headed attitude was indeed frustrating. "A person who is cynical, miserable, apathetic, angry, and acts suicidal..." Bill trailed off. Louis frowned for a moment, wondering where Bill was going with this, until it suddenly hit him like a Tank's punch.

"Bill... are you saying that Francis doesn't have the will to live?"

"Yes..." the war vet answered with a tired sigh, "That's exactly what I'm saying." Bill shook his head, "Zoey could have everything at her disposal: Fancy medical equipment, a safe and sterile environment, and all the time in the world to heal Francis, but if his mind has given up, his body will too... no matter how hard Zoey tries to save him."

Louis growled in frustration. He was the most optimistic one of the group, and Francis was a complete pessimist. None the less, Louis still tried to cheer him up and would ignore his cheap shots and insults, thinking it was just the stress of the situation and that Francis couldn't cope as well as he could. Now, with the realization that Francis may have been subconsciously trying to kill himself, Louis didn't feel very optimistic at all, but he'd be damned if he was going to be the new pessimist of the group. Maybe it was just his positive attitude, but he'd figured deep down Francis was a good guy with bravery and honor. Taking death as a way out was about as cowardly as one could get, and of all the adjectives the systems analyst had the biker pegged for, cowardice wasn't one of them.

As far as he was concerned, Francis' chances of survival depended on he and Bill getting back, and fast.

Grunting against the pain, Louis picked up the pace, determined to prove the old veteran wrong.

.

* * *

.

Zoey snapped awake, sitting bolt upright and scanning the room in a half panic. She didn't remember dropping off. The last thing she remembered was trying to keep Francis warm by sharing her body warmth...

_"Francis!"_ Zoey thought suddenly. She leaned over his face, placing two fingers on his neck while counting the beats. His pulse was still weak, but at least it hadn't slowed down any further. His breathing was still shallow, but steady. She sighed in relief, noticing her pink hoodie had been clutched by the biker at some point while they were both out. She smiled warmly at the unconscious gesture. It was likely reflexive, but it still made her grin, and that in of itself puzzled her. These feelings she felt stirring within her were very confusing. Her logical side told her it was just a Florence Nightingale effect and to pay it no mind, but her emotional side told her logical side to shut the hell up.

Zoey chuckled to herself, she'd become quite the hypocrite as far as her emotions were concerned. She committed herself to not being ruled by her feelings when she decided she wanted to be a doctor. People suffered and died everyday, and no matter how diligent any doctor was, they still couldn't save everyone. To dwell on all that every day would drive a person insane, so early on Zoey had convinced herself that death was merely a clinical definition for the absence of brain activity or a pulse, and nothing more. Now, however, it appeared to carry a bit more weight than a simple medical description.

"Lucky for you it doesn't include reduced brain activity, because God knows you can be pretty damn stupid, Francis." She whispered to him with a giggle while touching his cheek, subconsciously hoping for any kind of reaction.

His expression remained stoic and unchanged.

Zoey sighed. She wish she knew why Francis seemed to invoke these feelings from within her. He seemed like such a boorish pig at first, but as the hours of fighting and surviving passed, his true colors came to bear. Life or death situations tended to cause people to drop their facades. There were so many times he'd saved her life, or Bill's or Louis', that it was hard to imagine him being a selfish jerk. Deep down, she knew in her heart that he was a good person, just lost in the world and angry at being given a raw deal in life. She felt so confused, and the waiting around only gave her time to dwell on it.

"I don't know why I feel this way about you, tough guy, but hopefully you'll wake up soon and remind me in your own selfish way that its all just stress or something," she said, gently rubbing his cheek as her lower lip trembled. She tried to maintain her composure, God knew she tried through this apocalyptic nightmare, and she did pretty well. For all she'd been through, she granted herself some lenience.

Zoey relented as a sob racked her body, her eyes watering with fresh tears as she cried. Two of the hot droplets ran down her face and dripped off her chin, kissing the dying biker on his stubble-covered cheeks. She cried hard, covering her face with her hands trying to keep the volume of her bawling to a minimum. None of this was fair. This wasn't how things were supposed to turn out, and even though she knew life never was fair, it did little to qualm her emotional release. She sniffled and shuddered as the sobs passed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. _"Never a tissue when you need one," _she thought to herself.

The door burst open, causing Zoey to pivot on her knees, drawing and aiming her pistols at the shadowy and water-blurred figures in the door frame.

"Christ girl, I told you to barricade the damn door! Now put that down before you blow Louis' head off!" Bill said half yelling half smiling as he and Louis hurried into the room, shutting the door behind them. Zoey lowered her weapons and quickly turned away, ignoring Bill's attempt to be firm yet light-hearted. The two men unloaded their medical supplies and hurried to move a filing cabinet against the door, just in case they needed to buy some time. Apparently they hadn't noticed she was upset. Thankful for that small favor, the college student took the opportunity to wipe her face down and blink her eyes a few times in a weak attempt to hide that she'd been crying.

Zoey worked quickly assembling the transfusion kit, which essentially consisted of a pump, two syringes, and two tubes. There were also alcohol swabs and a small package of sugar cookies intended for the donor. The whole thing was rudimentary, but it would have to do. Zoey rolled up her sleeve, quickly swiping a spot on her arm with alcohol and inserting the needle. She repeated the process for Francis, then slowly moved the metal pump up and down. The clear tubes filled with red life that slowly made its way from Zoey's arm to Francis. If there was any discomfort on Francis' part, he didn't show it.

"How long will it take?" Louis asked.

"It will take roughly an hour or so, maybe a little longer," Zoey said, watching for any reactions from her charge. Reactions to blood transfusions included chills or spikes in fever, so she would need to check him constantly. Louis and Bill continued to pile more furniture against the door, since it was clear they weren't going anywhere for a little while. Once the barricade was complete, they huddled around Zoey and Francis.

Bill watched Zoey work diligently, constantly checking Francis' vitals while he received life-giving blood from her. The soldier in him felt that all of this was in vain, that even down one man they'd be better off getting out of here before their position was overrun. Even if Francis pulled through, he'd be wounded and would slow the group down, and that could spell doom for all of them.

However, the humanity in him knew that he'd never forgive himself if they didn't try everything to save him. Hell, Zoey would probably suffer the most, and he couldn't stand to see that either. Bill noticed her cheeks were blotchy with blush and her eyes slightly pink. He thought he'd heard sobbing earlier as he and Louis made their way back, and he was relieved when he threw the door open that he didn't see a crying witch sitting over a mauled college student and dead biker. It was obvious just how much Zoey cared about Francis, and that she would do everything to try and save him.

He only hoped Francis had the will to save himself...

.

* * *

.

Francis was on his knees, his face buried in his hands as the snow billowed around him. He was still on top of the building where they'd landed from earlier, but he didn't dare move as he could barely see his nose in front of his face. Night had fallen, bringing a snow storm with it. The falling flakes had multiplied into a howling blizzard. For all he knew he could be right at the edge of the building.

Francis was miserable, but the cold had little to do with it. He'd screwed up again, and his own inner turmoil was driving him insane. The spirit of the present was right, his hating everything really was a means of keeping people away. It was a lot easier if he only had to worry about disappointing himself, but adding others into the mix who he could let down was more responsibility than he wanted on his plate. Ever since his sister's disappearance, he shunned the idea of caring about anyone. Still, pushing people away carried the price of loneliness, a price he could no longer afford. He didn't want to be alone, he didn't want to care, but it wasn't his choice anymore. He _was_ alone and he _did_ care.

Somewhere in the snow he could hear the sound of diabolical laughter, the sound of Mike's triumph. It came from everywhere like the falling snow, echoing into the dead night air.

_"Give up Francis," _the taunting voice echoed. _"The north edge of the building is only ten feet away. You can stop this torment right now. Just step off and begin your sentence. Surely it's better than being disappointed for a third time, before facing the inevitable?"_

Francis picked himself up as though he were made of lead. He trudged forward like many of the shambling zombies he'd blasted into oblivion, preparing to join them. His feet dragged on the rooftop, making tracks that would trail to his demise. His boot hit the small, elevated outcropping that defined the edge of the roof. He looked over the edge, thinking he'd at least see the street below, but instead could see only blackness... a gaping maw of nothingness peppered with the still falling snow. He raised one foot onto the outcropping, though it didn't feel like he was really doing anything. His entire body was so cold, it was as though he was completely numb. The shiver of defeat ran through him as he prepared to fulfill his destiny.

The clock struck midnight.

Though it was supposedly back in the gray room, Francis could hear the old timepiece chime out twelve bells to signal the final hour. It wasn't earth-shatteringly loud this time, though still it seemed to come from everywhere. In Francis' mind, the bells tolled not for the next spirit... but for himself. Ready to meet his fate, he leaned over the edge. "Merry Christmas," he muttered to himself...

Something warm fell onto his cheek.

He froze. It felt like a tear, though he didn't think he was crying. He felt a second one fall on his other cheek, its heat running down his icy face. The realization dawned on Francis that if he did this, if he took this way out, he would forfeit his chance to feel warmth like that ever again, on his face or in his heart. He had one more visitor, one more chance, and he owed it to himself, to Zoey, to his sister, to Louis and Bill, to everyone who actually meant more than two shits to him, to at least try.

He turned away from the ledge to see a shadowy figure approaching from the blizzard. The figure wore a black robe with a large hood, much like a monk, though its face was completely obscured. The robe billowed about the new visitor in the strong winds. The robed figure was easily seven feet tall, and though it appeared lanky even in the baggy robe, it strode forward in the howling winds as though they were mere breezes, its stride never faltering. Francis nodded in understanding. Nothing could stop time from moving forward, not the worst blizzard imaginable, nor the world's destruction, nor his own death. The future was unknown, but the future would come all the same.

The spirit of the future stood before Francis, towering over him like a silent obelisk. The spirit brought a completely obscured hand to its hood as though to stifle a cough. The winds had finally died down a little, and Francis recognized the sound of the spirit's quiet hacking.

"Bill," he said softly. It seemed fitting the spirit would pick the war vet as its appearance. However, the spirit didn't acknowledge him in Bill's voice, or any voice for that matter. It simply stared at him with unseen eyes, as though reading into his very soul. "Ok, you're here to show me the events of the future, right?" The hooded figure didn't even nod, it just stared at him ominously like the grim reaper. Francis sighed, "I guess I deserve the silent treatment for what I almost did there, huh? Well, don't worry. I'm not taking the cowards way out," the biker said, trying to gather his confidence. "Show me what you got."

The spirit placed its covered hand, which felt very bony and wasted away, on the biker's shoulder . The surroundings blew away in the blizzard like scraps of newspaper, revealing what looked like an old truck depot. The depot consisted of a large, fenced in garage with a huge military truck outside. Nearby was a small gasoline powered generator that was online and generating quite a racket. Within the garage area was a raised car repair lift, which held a large modified military truck. The front was done over with steel plates, giving it a face more like a train, with a pointed front. Teeth had been drawn along these plates to make the truck appear more fearsome, though to who exactly Francis couldn't figure out. The entire thing looked as though it had been done over in these reinforced steel plates with small holes cut into the sides, no doubt to let passengers take shots at whatever threat lay outside. Though Francis was no mechanic, it looked like the truck was ready to go. The lift was slowly descending as power was fed to it from the generator outside.

All of this, however, was forgotten as Francis noticed the carnage that was occurring within. Infected were pouring into the garage from everywhere. Open windows, the open bay doors, landings, even the barbed wire fences that surrounded the domicile, and they were coming in by the hundreds. Francis knew the running generator was to blame for the sudden rush of infected; the crazed zombies hated consistent loud noise. He saw himself fighting along with Bill, Louis, and Zoey as they attempted to hold off the horde. They had taken refuge inside the garage, which apparently housed an elongated, enclosed supply area near the rear with a mounted minigun on its roof. Numerous boxes were stacked along its length, which formed a makeshift set of stairs to reach the mounted war weapon.

The biker noticed his conscious form wasn't doing very well. His breathing was labored as he swatted away another charging infected who got too close with the butt of his shotgun. His comrades had taken some serious injuries as well, all of them were spattered crimson from their kills, but much of the blood they wore was their own. Louis and Bill were limping pretty badly, and Zoey had a large gash in her side that was hindering her aim.

Zoey put a rifle round into a line of charging common infected, the powerful shot ripping through all four of them. Things seemed to quiet down finally, and Francis felt his heart in his throat. This was a classic "eye of the storm," for them. Francis noticed Louis was bleeding out pretty badly. Everyone had used their first aid except for the biker, but he was determined to save it for himself. Even the pills he carried, he figured would be wasted on them. They could hold out... at least long enough to...

With a loud roar the silence was broken. A tank had climbed the barbed wire fence and was just itching to pummel the four survivors. Zoey clambered up several stacked boxes to the roof of the shed, mounting the minigun and letting fly with a hail of lead that only served to annoy the huge muscle-bound behemoth. It roared as it threw a huge slab of concrete at Zoey, knocking her off the gun and incapacitating her. The other survivors yelled as they fired, trying to distract the tank, but it was to no avail. The tank climbed the landing and prepared to beat the college girl into a bloody pulp.

"No!" Francis yelled, hearing it as though he shouted in stereo. His conscious future counterpart had yelled as well, climbing the boxes and unloading his shotgun at point blank range on the tank to distract it. The tank turned and slapped the biker hard, sending him sprawling on his back with a sickening crunch. He tried to get up, but that blow had snapped something. Any attempt to move was futile, but he hadn't given up yet. Laying on the ground, he let fly with his pistols, effectively drawing the tank's attention away from Zoey and onto himself. The tank roared as it pummeled on him. His vision became spotty and his hearing went out from the force of the blow. His comrades were shouting something, but it was all mute to doomed biker. The tank landed another blow and Francis felt his bones snap and crush under the pressure. Hot, metallic-tasting liquid filled his mouth and was pooling in his lungs. It wouldn't be long now...

"Francis!" Zoey yelled, shooting as well to try and draw the tank away. Francis could see her face, the fear, the worry, the realization, everything. With the last of his strength fading away, he managed to flash her an apologetic smile before the tank crushed his skull under its giant fists. Zoey screamed in terror and anguish as the tank roared, triumphantly pounding on its own chest. Bill and Louis were still opening fire, and the tank finally, mercifully collapsed from the onslaught of lead. The remaining two survivors hurried to help Zoey to her feet as the military vehicle's wheels gently touched the ground. As the three got to their feet, more of the horde poured in. A hunter had leapt from the darkness, pouncing on Zoey and knocking Bill and Louis back with the force of the landing. With nothing in its way, the hunter snarled and slashed Zoey's throat. Louis screamed, trying to shoot the carnivore off her, but a smoker had appeared from a nearby window and snagged him with his tongue. The monster noose grabbed Louis by the neck, snapping it as it raised him off the ground like a rag doll. Bill couldn't believe what he was seeing, but he knew what was coming next as the mob of infected swarmed towards him. He didn't have the strength or the ammo.

Bill sighed in the few seconds he had before the mob would be toe to toe with him. He'd had a good run as a soldier, and he always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.

"You bastards are coming with us!" He yelled, pulling a molotov from his belt and throwing it at his feet. The fire engulfed him and the surrounding infected in its inferno. He collapsed with a scream as the fire consumed him, turning the war veteran into a blackened corpse as the infected mob flailed about wildly before succumbing to the flames themselves.

Francis looked on in horror as the fire burned. He'd seen himself crushed to death by a tank, then watched Zoey die like a lamb led to a slaughter. Louis had been hung like a common criminal from the gallows, and Bill took himself out in a kamikaze fashion that must have been incredibly painful. The rescue vehicle rested on the ground, its back open for passengers that would never board.

Why did he have to see this? Was this a premonition? That everything he did would still ultimately amount to failure? His hands were trembling; he wasn't sure if he was upset or outraged. Probably a bit of both, with a dash of depression thrown in.

Regaining his composure, he turned to the spirit with anger in his voice. "So I'm doomed, is that the general message here?" He asked the spirit of the future with contempt. The spirit said nothing, but pointed with its covered hand to the biker's decimated body. There among the blood was his first aid kit, along with a few bottles of pain pills he'd hoarded for himself. No words were necessary. Francis realized his greed and hoarding had potentially resulted in the fate of the four. Because he didn't think any of them would make it, he didn't heal any of his comrades when he had a chance, effectively sealing their fates.

-----

_The transfusion was complete, leaving the Biker still unconscious, but with an extra pint of blood in his system. Zoey carefully removed the needles with an unsteady hand, her own blood sugar levels now rather low. She quickly ripped open the package of sugar cookies and began stuffing them in her mouth as though she hadn't eaten in days. As she thought about it, she really hadn't eaten in days... in fact none of them had. She paused for a moment, crumbs on her face and t-shirt as Louis and Bill stared at her with vacant eyes. The tension could be cut with a knife, until the sound of two gurgling stomachs echoed in the small room._

_"Sorry guys, that was rather rude of me," she said, giving them each the last two sugar cookies which they happily devoured themselves._

_"Mo problmf," Louis said with his mouth full. He quickly swallowed his snack. "How's he doing?"_

_Zoey checked his pulse, and as the seconds passed, her face slowly turned into a mask of terror._

-----

Before Francis could say anything, the scene blew away in the howling winds. He and the spirit appeared to be flying about 10,000 feet off the ground, the expanse of the earth stretching out before them both. The spirit pointed at the various continents as they passed over them, and Francis bared silent witness to the destruction that seemed to cover the entire globe. Cities were destroyed, plains and forests burned into nothing, the bays and rivers stained with blood, and everywhere... dead bodies.

Japan was a smoking island of nuclear destruction. Korea had fired its nuclear missiles, believing the Japanese were to blame for this plague of suffering. Russia was also a barren wasteland of nuclear destruction, having attacked the United States, which in turn countered with deadly nuclear missiles. All over the world, Francis could see the last desperate acts of violence by the worlds leaders as they blamed one another, using the infection as an excuse to annihilate their enemies, instead extinguishing all life on the planet. He flew over London, seeing nearly every great structure destroyed. Big Ben had collapsed along with parliament. In a blink he was over New York City, it looked far worse than Philadelphia. He was floating in front of the large clock in Times Square. The clock was still running, surprisingly. The time was exactly midnight, but the date was December 25th, 2010; exactly one year later.

"My God." Francis said, completely stunned. In a year, the entire world had destroyed itself. Part of him was surprised it didn't happen sooner. The spirit coughed again, still sounding like Bill. Though it lacked a visible face, it glared at Francis with what he felt was a stare of accusation and contempt. He finally understood full extent of his selfishness causing his team's demise. Because of his actions, the last four immune people on earth were no more, and without their blood, there was no hope of a cure. In its desperation, the entire world went out in the biggest bar fight of all, plunging itself into oblivion.

-----

_"Shit shit shit!" Zoey said, her voice rising to a panic. "I'm losing him! Quick, get that defibrillator __ready!" Francis breathing seemed to have stopped, and he lacked a detectable pulse. Louis quickly opened the protective casing and handed Zoey the shock paddles. She quickly opened his vest and shuffled his shirt up his torso to expose his chest. Louis flicked on the switch as the __defibrillator __built its first charge. Bill looked on in anxiety, he hated not being able to do anything.  
_

_"Charging..." Louis said as the lights lit up from red to yellow to... "Green!" He said suddenly._

_Zoey inhaled, placing the shock paddles to the biker's chest before shouting, "Clear!"_

-----

"So what does this matter to me or my friends if we're dead?" Francis said, his pride once again trying to take control. "The world was bound to destroy itself sooner or later, with people just as bad as me all over the globe." The spirit ignored his attempt to defend himself and simply pointed again. They were now hovering over an overrun military outpost. Judging by the highways leading to it, this one wasn't far from Philadelphia; it was likely where his group was headed before he got the life beaten out of him.

As they descended Francis could see the worst casualties of the viral war. The women and children within the compound were brutally slaughtered. Having no weapons to defend themselves, they were at the mercy of the turned. It was the most appalling sight he'd ever seen. Francis and the spirit landed in front of a mother who perished with her daughter in her arms, trying to shield her. The mom looked to be about ten years older than Francis, and her daughter about six years old. Thankfully they weren't ripped apart, but they both were covered with dark purple splotches from head to toe. They had literally been beaten to death, and it looked to have been fairly recent... probably within the last few days.

Francis scowled as the spirit stood next to him, his arm still extended to the deceased mother and daughter. "So what?" Francis said with a quiver in his voice, his composure cracking. He didn't understand why the spirit chose to single them out, but perhaps it had to do with the fact that it was easy to view mass destruction from afar, until one viewed it up close and personal to see the individual faces that once had lives. The woman's dirty, matted, and bloody hair was likely a light brown at one point. Her head was lulled to the side, a large purple bruise covering her cheek and part of her chin. Her jaw looked familiar to the biker, though he couldn't place it. Her hands were loosely draped around her daughter. Her ring finger on her left hand was badly bruised, her wedding band half embedded below the knuckle. Francis trembled as he looked at the dead woman's lost child. The daughter had perished with her eyes open, her face frozen in a frightening glimpse of her last moments before death painfully took her away. Her eyes were brown, but had a familiar shape to them as well. The two were nagging at Francis' memory.

------

_Zoey pressed the buttons on the paddles, sending the electrical pulse through Francis. His body reflexively convulsed from the shock, his chest surging upwards before his body went lifeless once more.  
_

_"God damn it!" Zoey yelled. The emergency __defibrillator __didn't have any KY jelly for the paddles, so Francis would have two paddle-shaped burn marks on his chest. It would make for an interesting story if he lived. The smell of burnt human chest hair permeated the room, making Zoey gag for a moment. "Louis!" She said in a half yell, waiting for the pack to build its next charge.  
_

_"Charging!" The systems analyst answered, a bit nervous himself. Bill continued to watch anxiously. Although he liked being right, the last thing he wanted was to be correct about Francis having given up. _

_"Red... yellow...... Green!" Louis said.  
_

_"Clear!" Zoey cried as she pressed the paddles to his chest once more, her eyes beginning to water._

_-------  
_

Francis screamed as the realization struck him like an electric shock. "No! No no no no no noooooo!!!" He cried. His sister and the niece he never met had made it to safety, but it was all in vain. He cried hard, harder than he ever had in his life as he fell to his knees. "I'm... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said to his dead sister and niece.

The spirit towered over him, silent and stoic as the grim reaper himself. As Francis wept, he supposed it didn't matter to the spirit. Time would pass, no matter what fate humanity suffered. Still, it mattered to him. It wasn't just Zoey, or Bill, or Louis, or even his sister and his niece. It was the fact that none of them asked for this, and everyone suffered because he was selfish. By dropping his guard and allowing himself to care, all of this could have been avoided. If he lived through this hell, he vowed to do everything in his power to stop these events from happening. Even if it meant sacrifice, Francis would give his life to make sure the other survivors made it, so that no one would suffer this cruel fate.

"I understand now." He said through his tears. His hands clawed at the robe as he looked up to the still coughing spirit. "Its about not being selfish, about caring, about being a decent human being. I've known all along, but my pride and selfishness always came first." The spirit coughed harder, sounding like Bill if he'd choked on his own cigarette.

"I swear with God as my witness, I will change! I will do everything in my power to make sure they make it. I'll gladly die to save Zoey's life, to save the lives of my friends and family, just give me a chance!" Francis pleaded.

-----

_"Fuck!" Zoey yelled, as the __defibrillator __discharged again and Francis' body convulsed once before laying still once more. "God damnit Francis! Don't you die on m... us!" The distraught college student said, her voice shaking. Bill watched Zoey pour everything into this and it broke his heart. She held the paddles in the air as the __defibrillator emitted a high-pitched whine, building another charge. Louis looked at the unit's reserve power. Two charges had been used, leaving only three more. The systems analyst knew power meters on most portable devices were approximate at best; he hoped this one was more accurate than most._

_------  
_

The spirit coughed angrily, one hand ripping the robe away like a curtain, revealing its true form. Towering over Francis was "Bill," though he was a good seven feet tall. His white beard was stained a disgusting green, and it barely hid the numerous tumors jutting from his jaw and face. The beret on his head was torn and dirty. Green smoke appeared to puff all around the infected war veteran. 'Bill' let out a loud smokers cough and pointed at Francis in accusation, his long tongue hanging out of his mouth, dangling near his combat boots. The ground trembled, and all around Francis could hear the sound of laughter... Mike's laughter. Everywhere the dead women and children slowly rose to their feet, moaning like zombies. Francis screamed as his sister and niece rose as well, staring at him with milky white, hungry eyes.

Francis stood and tried to back away, but the ground fissured behind him, opening to a fiery maw. Francis lost his footing and fell backwards, but was able to snag 'Bill's tongue. He dangled over the gateway to hell like a worm on a hook. 'Bill' hacked and coughed harder, bracing himself to hold the extra weight of the biker. Far below, Francis saw Mike adorned in his numerous scars, laughing as he whipped countless damned souls, their collective cry of mercy sounding as horrifying as the moans of the zombies closing in on him. Mike looked up at the dangling biker with a sadistic grin, one finger beckoning Francis to join the damned.

As Francis slid towards the edge of the slippery 'rope', he wondered where he went wrong. He thought he understood that his selfishness and his pride was what caused everything and he vowed to change. He swore it on his immortal soul, so why was he about to lose everything? The 'smoker' was coughing and staring at him, as though expecting something. Many of the zombie women and children had huddled around the fissure, reaching for the biker with their cold, dead hands. His sister and niece stood next to the deformed spirit of the future, their moans sounding more like cries as they reached for the biker. It almost looked as though they were trying to save him.

------

_"Francis you sissy!" Zoey yelled, her pretty lips in a scowl of frustration and concentration as she prepared to zap him again while Louis watched the __defibrillator charge up with its high-pitched whine.__ "You're stronger than this! Death is the coward's way out! You're not a coward! You're brave and strong! You're a wonderful person damn it and the world is better off with you _in _it!" She cried, her emotions surging forth. Bill felt his own lip tremble. This shit just wasn't fair. Zoey was about to have a break down. Death was coming for Francis, and she couldn't stop it.  
_

------

"Anyone can die!" Francis yelled at 'Bill' as the realization struck him like another electric shock. "I get it! I understand! Anyone can die! Fuck, dying is easy! Death would be the cheap way out of this nightmare, and that's selfish!" Francis half laughed and half cried, everything falling into place.

_"We need you... _I _need you!" Zoey yelled._

"Its one thing to die for someone, but to live for them... that takes true strength, and true commitment! A real man would _live_ for what he loves!" Francis yelled, almost happily. The "blinders" he'd worn for most of his life had finally been lifted from his eyes.

_"Please Francis...." Zoey sobbed, pressing the paddles to his chest once more._

"For Zoey! For Bill! For Louis! For my sister! For the entire world! For myself!" Francis promised the future... his future.

_"Charging.... red... yellow... green!" Louis cried, his own voice trembling._

Francis' grip finally broke and he screamed, plummeting to the fiery damnation below. His one arm outstretched, he yelled his final testament to the spirit of the future.

"I... WILL... LIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!"

_  
"CLEAR!!" Zoey screamed._

_------  
_

A/N: Whacha think? Please review, anonymous reviews are enabled, so click that green button.


	5. All I Want For Christmas

L4D – A Christmas Carol

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story (except the ones I've made up). All game characters are property of Valve. Also, while this plot is partially my idea, it is one story of many that has its roots from the plot of, "A Christmas Carol," by Charles Dickens. While no one technically owns rights to that story (that I'm aware of), I'm certainly not claiming this entire story to be completely original. Plagiarism is wrong._

A/N: Thank you all for leaving such wonderful and positive reviews. At first I didn't think many people were interested in this story, but I'm happy you guys have proved me wrong and then some. I hope this chapter lives up to all of your expectations. Once again, anonymous reviews are enabled, so click the green button if you likey likey. ;-) Also I apologize for this chapter being so long, but there really wasn't a point where I could split it evenly. Not to mention I figured you guys would be out for blood if I left you all hanging again. ;-)

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Chapter 5 – All I Want for Christmas

Time seemed to stand still. Zoey could barely see the shock paddles through her tears, but her thumbs found the buttons all the same. Her heart was racing like she was facing an approaching tank. Though the defibrillator depended solely on it's battery power, the college girl pressed the buttons hard, as though she could send her own will through the device.

"CLEAR!!" She shouted as she depressed the buttons. The defibrillator discharged, causing Francis to convulse.

Yet again, his body was unresponsive.

Zoey was breathing like she'd just run a marathon. She'd failed. The transfusion, the makeshift triage, the words of comfort, all of it in vain. All of it... for a corpse.

"NO!" She cried, pounding on her thighs with her fists. "No no no no fucking no!"

"Zoey... you did your-" Bill said before Zoey shrieked at the war vet.

"Shut up Bill! Just shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" Bill reflexively backed towards the door. He'd never seen the college girl so _angry_! She was on the verge of delirium. Louis was about to say something but wisely decided against it. Zoey would have to run this out, and hopefully she would run out of steam before she totally lost it and did something crazy. Louis casually slid her pistols out of reach while she fumed at Bill.

Zoey was panting in frustration and failure, staring at Francis' unmoving form. Ever since she was little, she'd been labeled as tenacious by her parents and her friends. Whether it was playing tag, board games, sports, or 'convincing' a boy to be her prom date, Zoey never gave up, even when it was more trouble than the pursuit was worth. She'd been warned of this again in college by her professors, that in medicine sometimes no matter what you did, you had to accept the fact that not everyone could be healed... not everyone could be saved. It wasn't that she shouldn't try her best, but sometimes even the best just wasn't enough.

Well fuck those people! Fuck them all and their realist attitudes! Fuck giving up!

_"You can't take him!" _Zoey yelled in thought to the grim reaper she swore she could see standing over Francis' silent form. _"Someday... but not today! Not on Christmas!"_

Zoey shoved the defibrillator aside and began manual CPR. She placed her palms on Francis' sternum and began the hard, rhythmic pushing to manually restart his heart.

"One... two... three... four...," She half whispered as she counted, her brow furrowed in concentration, "five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten." She took a deep breath then placed her mouth over his while pinching his nose with her fingers. She could taste the slight metallic flavor of his blood on her lips, but it didn't matter. She breathed into him, his chest rising and falling as she blew oxygen into his body. She administered three steady breaths before starting the pattern over, pressing harder on his sternum and counting in an angry whisper. Bill and Louis looked on quietly. She was completely focused; it was likely the last coping mechanism her mind possessed. Eventually she would tire, eventually she would break down, and then...

Louis wondered if it would only be he and Bill making their way towards rescue.

.

* * *

.

Francis looked around, expecting to see fire and brimstone. Instead he was laying on the floor in the gray room, surrounded by his 'friends'. To his left was Zoey, who looked as beautiful as a bride on her wedding day in her white dress, shoulder length white gloves, and baby's breath wreath; her pretty blue eyes aglow with vibrance. To her left was Louis, still as large as the fat holiday sleigh rider and still in his red and white chimney suit. He was puffing a pipe, looking very smug and satisfied. Next to him stood Bill, who was as tall as a basketball player, but gone were the tumors on his face and the green smoky aura that surrounded him earlier. He smiled faintly, raising one hand in a mock salute to the biker.

Francis offered a lopsided smile as he half sat up. "So I'm guessing while I was passed out you guys wrote stuff on my face in permanent marker, right?" The three spirits laughed, and Francis smiled, until he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

"I wanted to write, 'cry baby' on your forehead, but it's not like there are any mirrors here for you to see my handiwork." Francis looked over his shoulder. There, in his signature biker outfit was the etheral form of Mike. He was smiling broadly, with his vest opened and his chest exposed. The scars and cuts that adorned him were gone.

"Thank you Francis. You've saved me from my torment." Mike said in a grateful voice that lacked a demonic edge. Francis scratched his head as the three spirits of time continued smiling broadly at him.

"Waitaminute," the tattooed survivor said in shock. "You made a deal with the devil that you would be promoted to an overseer and thereby let you escape torture if I failed!" Francis shuddered in fear. He _had_ failed!

Mike and the three spirits chuckled. "Sorry buddy. All lies, but they were white lies." Mike continued with a content voice, "I was indeed going to suffer an eternity in hell, the scars of my transgressions being my torture, but the deal I made was actually more of an offer from a... 'higher' power." He said, looking up at the ceiling briefly as though he could see through it. He smiled before turning his opaque eyes to his friend. "The deal was if I could get you to save yourself, I would be saved too. Sorry about all the tormenting and taunting, but part of the offer was I had to act like a real servant of hell. I couldn't hint in the slightest my true intentions. Apparently the folks 'upstairs' have a lot invested in you, Francis."

Francis couldn't believe what he was hearing. Ordinarily he would be pretty pissed about being played like this, but as far as he was concerned the selfish prick he once was had perished in the flames. Still, he wasn't _completely_ different.

He glared as he rose to his feet to face his friend. Mike backed away as Francis' scowled menacingly at him. The three spirits grinned at Mike's obvious nervousness. Even though he was dead, he looked like he feared for his safety. Francis drew back his arm...

Mike yelped as Francis' hand flew forward and patted him hard on the shoulder. Francis smiled a very genuine smile as he stared at his old partner in crime.

"You're welcome Mike." Francis said as Mike visibly relaxed. He turned to the spirits of time, "And thank you all for showing me what it means to _live_." The three 'survivors' nodded at him. 'Zoey' stepped forward and pulled him into a tight embrace.

_"Francis, I know what was... what is... truly in your heart." _She whispered in his ear._ "Your pride has been like a python wrapped around your heart, constricting and suffocating it. You've cast aside your vices and saved your immortal soul, but while you're at it... maybe you could let your heart 'breathe' as well?" _She pulled back, holding his hands and smiling.

"Can I at least play hard to get with Zoey?" He asked jokingly.

'Zoey' punched him in the chest playfully, though it actually felt pretty darn hard and it seemed to be throbbing rhythmically. Francis rubbed his chest as she pulled him to her, her eyes watering with tears of joy.

_"Good luck with that. And, good luck in general Francis," _she said before cupping his face in her hands and pressing her lips to his. His eyes shut reflexively as he wrapped his arms around her. Her kiss was overflowing with passion, so much that Francis felt like his chest was going to burst as she breathed into him. Suddenly, he felt the strangest urge to cough...

.

* * *

.

Zoey yelped a muffled cry as Francis' arms wrapped around her. She was in the middle of administering yet another breath to the biker when suddenly she felt his body nearly spring to life, grabbing her in a bear hug. She struggled and broke the kiss of life with a cry of surprise. Francis suddenly let go and reflexively started coughing and sucking in air for all it was worth. His head was spinning and he felt awful, though he was still a damn sight better than before. He looked around, and there standing over him was Bill and Louis, both their faces frozen in shock.

Zoey was kneeling over him, staring at the conscious biker with relief and disbelief. Her lower lip trembled, her sparkling blue eyes ready to let fly with fresh tears.

"Merry Christmas," she said with a quiver in her voice, attempting to mock the biker's own sarcastic tone. Francis would say "Merry Christmas" the few times he ever shared anything with his comrades, which was rare to say the least.

"I.." Francis started.

"... hate Christmas. Yeah yeah," Zoey finished, her heart still fluttering as she tried to look away from those light brown eyes.

Over her head, the biker could swear he saw mistletoe. He blinked once or twice, and the air over Zoey's head was empty. Somewhere in his mind he heard the spirit of the past whisper in a snarky, Zoey-sounding tone, _"Good luck playing hard to get."_

Zoey stared at him with concern, as he still hadn't said anything other than the one letter word used to refer to ones self. Francis simply looked up at her, taking in everything he'd nearly given up for the sake of his pride. He couldn't believe he'd almost let her go, and he'd be damned if he was ever going to again.

Francis half sat up and kissed the surprised college girl on the lips. He leaned on his left arm while his right wrapped around her back, holding her tight. Zoey yelped another muffled cry into his lips as she half-heartedly smacked on Francis' left shoulder, a mock gesture that she felt he was being too fresh with her. She murmured quietly as the tears ran down her face, her faux resistance breaking. For the moment, she could care less why he kissed her, even if it wasn't for the reasons she hoped. For the moment, she could care less about missing the likely hilarious expressions of surprise Bill and Louis were sporting at the display of affection.

All she cared about was that Francis was alive.

The kiss broke, and Francis smiled. "I love Christmas, because it's with you," he said quietly. Zoey felt her heart about to burst out of her chest. "Thanks for giving me another chance to fight alongside you guys," he said to the college girl, while turning his gaze to Bill and Louis as well.

Bill was speechless, unsure of what to say. He wondered if it was the shock of a near-death experience that appeared to have completely changed Francis' attitude, though it wasn't an unpleasant change.

Louis smiled broadly, his own eyes beginning to tear up a bit. It looked like his optimistic 'premonitions' were finally starting to prove true.

Zoey beamed at him from the words of sincerity, so happy that he'd beaten the odds and escaped death. She'd nearly lost him because of his brash attitude... nearly lost herself because he'd almost died...

She lost it anyway.

Zoey sobbed hard as she pulled Francis into her arms, moving him into a full sitting position. He grunted quietly, his body still aching a bit from the beating he'd received hours ago. She bawled into his shoulder as her delicate frame quaked. Francis felt his own eyes water a little as he ran his right hand over her back in a soothing gesture. Seeing her cry when he was a "specteral spectator" was hard enough, but seeing, hearing, feeling her cry right next to him, that was just terrible.

"Zoey, I..." Francis was interrupted as Zoey pulled back staring at him through her tears. Her face was flushed red as her temper flared. Her bright blue eyes were pink around the edges and her nose was leaking a little from her hard sobbing.

"Francis!" She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve as her frustration surged forth. "Don' t you ever, _ever_ go off alone like that again! God damn it! Promise me!" She said, her scolding a combination of love and frustration.

Francis sat there stunned. Even after everything he'd seen with the spirits, he still couldn't believe Zoey harbored such strong feelings for him and didn't show them until now. While it may have come off as mere concern for a fellow survivor, it was plain as day to the three men in the room that she cared very deeply for him.

"Well?" She said impatiently, sniffling again as more errant mucus dribbled out her nose. "Say something!"

Francis gave a lopsided grin, noticing the snot trail running from her nose, "Zoey, you are the most beautiful person I've ever met. I would never disappear on you."

She stared at him blankly for a moment, sniffling reflexively, not catching the joke. Louis and Bill started to chuckle, and Zoey slowly caught on.

She laughed hard, hugging him again and deliberately wiping her nose on his shoulder. "You think that's funny, but it 'snot'," she said with a cheesy smile.

"I meant it. You're the most beautiful and most wonderful woman I've ever met, and I swear I'll never leave your side," he whispered into her ear. Zoey's face flushed again, this time from embarrassment.

"We'll have a lot to talk about once we get out of here," Zoey said shyly as she helped him to his feet and pulled her pink hoodie back over her head.

"Oh really?" The biker said with a sly grin of his own.

"Yeah, like who is 'Mike' and why were you begging him to stop doing things to you?" Louis interjected, getting laughs from Zoey and Bill.

Francis chuckled, "It'll keep until we get out of here."

"You took a real beating there son," Bill said, sizing him up as the biker readied his auto-shotgun. "You sure you're going to be alright out there? We had to use what was left of our first aid kits just to keep you alive."

Francis smiled, "I'll be fine old man... just a little pain in the back, ribs, groin, legs, arms... uhh... well everywhere, but I'll be fine." He said as he rubbed himself near his kidney. Truth be told, though he was back with the living he wasn't anywhere close to full health, and he felt it.

"I got your painkiller hookup buddy, pending approval from 'Dr. Zoey,'" Louis said with a smile. Zoey nodded in the affirmative as Louis went for one of the many bottles of pain pills he'd lifted from the private practice. He reached into one of his pockets and found nothing. In a panic, he patted himself down to find the missing drugs, but came up empty.

"Fuck! I must've dropped them when I was running from that tank!" Louis said in frustration. Francis reached into his own pockets and pulled out several bottles of pain pills he'd hoarded from earlier.

"Merry Christmas," he said to Louis, tossing him a bottle, then one to Bill, and one to Zoey. "I found those when I 'disappeared'." He said, chuckling quietly then winced as his body reminded him that he was still in a lot of pain. He tossed the last bottle back in one gulp, giving himself a momentary reprieve from his suffering.

"Francis, take this." Bill said, tossing him an adrenaline shot.

"What the hell? I hate needles! Err.. not that I'm afraid of them... I mean... I just don't like needles, yeah." Francis stammered, trying to cover up his aversion for shots.

"Aww... is the big bad biker afraid of a little pinch?" Zoey asked in a mocking yet flirtatious tone, giving him a playful pinch on the arm. Francis rubbed the back of his head and looked away, blushing.

"It's an adrenaline shot Francis." Bill continued. "You're still pretty beat up, and even a first aid kit isn't going to get you back to full speed. Inject yourself with that when those pain pills wear off. It won't last as long as the pills, but it will increase your speed and your strength for a short time, plus it will take your mind off the pain."

"A liquid rush huh? Sounds good." Francis said, pocketing the syringe.

The four survivors readied their gear and prepared to head out into the snow-covered streets once more. Zoey decided to take the defibrillator with her since it still had a couple charges, and while it didn't help Francis, it might still be useful. The snow had finally stopped falling, leaving the streets coated with the winter powder. They made their way past the loading docks of several buildings before reaching one of the main roads. The street had been blocked off to the left and the right, but directly in front of them was an abandoned semi. It was left next to a chain link fence that seemed to surround a truck repair depot.

"Looks like the only way is over the truck and into that repair yard," Bill said. They each scaled the large truck and hopped the fence, dispatching the few common infected scattered about. The repair yard had a few cargo boxes and an old car near the semi they'd just cleared. Further in they could see a huge military transport, completely loaded up with sandbags and barbed wire around the perimeter of it's roof. On the other side of the truck it was as though Santa Claus had left some presents for the survivors. Scattered on the ground in front of the massive truck were four first aid kits and a large cache of ammunition.

The four geared up, reloading their weapons and each taking a first aid kit. Louis and Bill used their spare kits immediately, as they were still a bit roughed up from the trek to and from the private practice office. Zoey was tempted to use her kit on Francis, but there was little else she could do for him that hadn't already been done. Like Bill had mentioned earlier, some of his wounds simply could not be healed with mere first aid. Only time and rest could get him back to full strength, and she swore that as soon as they made it to a safe zone she would be his personal nurse. Zoey had a momentary flashback of herself in a sexy nurse's outfit she'd worn at a Halloween party, and she giggled to herself as she imagined the look on Francis' face if she were to wear it while taking care of him.

The four looked around at the desolate truck repair yard. It appeared to be an abandoned warehouse that was converted into a makeshift garage. To the right of the military truck was a large gasoline powered generator, which appeared to provide power to the entire facility. Flood lights were mounted on the interior and exterior of the building, though they were all out due to a lack of power. The four walked through one of the large open bay doors. There were two large car lifts inside, both elevated and one still had a vehicle hoisted in the air. Behind the lifts near the back of the warehouse was what appeared to be a large elongated storage shed. The faint moonlight shined in the large open windows that were a good 20 feet above the storage shed. It was flush with the left and rear wall of the complex. Boxes were stacked up around the front, acting as a makeshift staircase to its roof. On top of the roof, near the building's right-side edge was a mounted mini-cannon. The canon faced off towards a pair of buses that had been parked inside. It was an ideal location for the mounted gun, as the entire right wall of the warehouse was missing. All that stood between the warehouse and a horde was a large chain link fence.

"I _want _that truck." Zoey said in an almost sultry tone, her head tilted upward. The other three survivors looked up. Stuck on one of the raised car lifts was another military truck, though it had been reinforced with armor plates. The windshield was barely visible, and near the grill the plates had been arranged in a point, much like the face of an old fashion train. Teeth were painted along the point, giving the truck a beast like appearance. The entire vehicle was adorned in these steel plates, with small holes along the sides, likely for those on board to handle threats to the flanks. Peeking over the truck's roof was the barrel of a .50 caliber machine gun, likely connected to a swivel gunner turret sticking out of the roof. The driver and passenger doors had been welded shut and covered with the reinforced plates. The back of the truck appeared to be the only way in or out of the rescue vehicle, and it was open, just waiting for passengers.

Francis felt a momentary flash of terror as a scene played through his mind. The first thing he remembered was seeing that truck slowly descend, then the horde, then the tank, then...

He shook his head. This was different. They would not fail! He would personally see to that.

"Looks like we'll have to start the generator if we want to get that truck down," Louis remarked dryly. It figured, the only means of escape was to power up a very noisy gasoline generator.

"Those bastards are going to flood in by the hundreds once we start it up, so let's agree on a spot to defend ourselves," Bill said, eying the powerful mini-cannon on top of the storage shed. The others tracked his gaze and quietly agreed the monster war weapon would be helpful in holding off a large horde.

The quartet jogged back outside, around the face of the huge military truck, towards the generator. Louis spotted the pull-cord starter first and stepped forward, rubbing his hands together to warm them up for a better grip. One of the tech's blood stained leather dress shoe propped against the generator as he braced himself. Grabbing the pull-start cord in his right arm, the systems analyst yanked back several times trying to turn the gasoline engine over.

"C'mon baby... c'mon generator... start for daddy, c'mon... that's it..." he said coaxingly as the generator stubbornly refused to start in the cold weather.

"How 'bout you take things slow? You know, ask it out for coffee... then maybe a movie, before you start talking dirty like that?" Francis said with a smirk. Zoey punched him in the arm causing him to wince, and she immediately felt bad, forgetting how injured the biker still was.

Louis just laughed as he continued yanking the pull-start cord until finally the generator roared to life. Nearly every flood light in the truck depo turned on, lighting up the entire area, both inside and out. The generator continued its loud hum as the facility regained power. The lift inside began to whine as it slowly began to lower it's precious cargo to the ground.

However, the sound most audible was the collective screams of the damned. They were coming...

The four survivors sprinted back inside, climbing the various boxes stacked against the storage shed, approaching the edge where the cannon was mounted.

"Zoey, you should take the cannon. Your rifle is useless if you get mobbed," Bill noted. Zoey nodded in agreement and stood behind the cannon as the first wave of crazed former humans charged towards the group. A huge mass was climbing the chain-link fence, giving Zoey ample time to let fly with the cannon and mow them down before they could even get halfway up. More poured in from the open bay doors. Zoey attempted to bring the weapon to bare on the new threat, unfortunately the mini-cannon only had a 90 degree turning radius. Zoey took aim with her rifle instead, sending shots through several lines of infected while Bill and Louis popped heads with their M-16's.

Suddenly Francis heard the familiar upset sounds of a Boomer, though he couldn't place where. It almost seemed to be coming from...

Francis felt a shadow fall upon him and quickly turned around and looked up. There in one of the large windows, a good 20 feet above him was the massive, quivering, bile-vomiting infected. With a groan the Boomer dropped towards the survivors like an atomic bomb.

"Incoming!" Francis yelled, diving towards the wall to avoid being crushed. The unstable infected fell onto the roof, exploding from the force of the impact. The explosion sent Francis slamming into the back wall while knocking Zoey, Bill, and Louis right off the roof, covering them in the nasty green bile.

The infected seemed to flood the warehouse from every opening imaginable. They clambered over the fence or raced in through the open doors, several tripping up over each other as they raced towards the bile-soaked survivors. Francis watched the rabble pour in front of him like he was behind a waterfall. The infected were actually falling in from the open windows 20 feet above, and though Francis was covered in bile, the majority of the infected ignored him completely, instead concentrating on his friends. Francis mowed down the "downpour" of infected with his auto shotgun, the pellets slamming groups of the crazed zombies in the back, sending them sprawling over the edge of the storage shed roof. Zoey, Bill, and Francis were trying to hold off the waves of infected pouring in from the garage doors. Zoey sniped several groups of the infected with her powerful rifle, the rounds tearing through the lines of several bodies at once, but it still wasn't enough to hold the undead tide back. Louis and Bill were popping heads with their M-16's, occasionally cracking a missed infected with the butt of their rifles when they got too close, which was becoming too often.

Within moments the three survivors below were overrun. Francis heard their screams and cries as the infected surrounded them and began pounding on them mercilessly, just like when he was overwhelmed hours before.

His friends hadn't given up on him then, now it was time to return the favor.

Francis shouted, "Grenade!" as he let fly with his pipe bomb, distracting most of the common rabble, who chased the beeping incendiary item until it exploded into a shower black smoke and body parts. The biker leapt down the boxes while reloading and cocking his shotgun. Zoey was closest and in the most danger, as she had already been knocked down. Francis let fly with half his clip, mowing down the mob surrounding her. Bill and Louis had managed to huddle back to back, but it was still becoming too much for them as well. Francis unloaded the rest of his clip on their attackers, giving the two survivors a moment to breathe and blast the slower ones with their rifles.

_"Zoey!"_ Francis thought, as he rushed over to help the college girl to her feet. Luckily she hadn't been beaten nearly as bad as he'd thought, though it still looked like it hurt like hell. "C'mon lazy, we can't have you lyin' around all day." He coaxed. Things had quieted down now, but Francis knew this usually meant more trouble was right around the corner. He was lucky to have missed the brunt of the swarm, his friends on the other hand...

Zoey healed herself with her first aid kit while Bill and Louis quickly popped the painkillers Francis gave them earlier, giving them a much needed, albeit temporary, boost. The reprieve was short-lived, as a loud angry roar shattered the eerie silence.

"Tank!" Zoey shouted as the behemoth appeared behind the large chain link fence across from the mini-cannon. Zoey quickly scaled the boxes and mounted the gun, unloading a hailstorm of hot lead as the tank climbed the fence. Bill and Louis took aim with their M-16's while Francis stood, momentarily stunned as the memory of his visit with the spirit of the future cold-cocked his mind...

_Tank climbs the fence. Concrete hurled. Zoey down! Then everything went to hell..._

_No! No! NO!_

"Zoey wait!" Francis yelled, but no one could hear him over the din of the weapons fire. The tank had cleared the fence, grunting in irritation as the lead shower continued to hail on him. The behemoth ripped up part of the concrete floor like it was carpeting and hurled it at the petite gunner. Zoey held her ground, trying to shatter the hurled slab with a hail of bullets. The piece broke in two, but too close to the gun as part of the projectile smacked her right off her perch like a delicate bird being hit by a baseball. Her weapons and items scattered as she sailed back a good ten feet.

"NO!" The three survivors yelled as the tank quickly climbed the ledge. Francis knew what would happen next, but it couldn't be. If he could change his life, surely he could change this too? Zoey groaned as she squinted her eyes. One of the interior floodlights was pointed right in her face. Suddenly a huge black shadow fell across her vision as the backlit behemoth towered over her, roaring and pounding on its chest like an angry gorilla.

Suddenly, the lights went out and the steady hum of the generator went silent.

"FUCK!" Louis yelled. "God damn generator's out!" He said as he continued to fire at the tank trying to distract it.

Francis saw Zoey's frightened stare as the tank brought both fists down.

_WHAM!_

She'd managed to roll to the side, dodging the first blow, but she couldn't keep that up for long.

Francis saw her weapons and everything she'd been carrying had fallen over the ledge when she was hit; she was utterly defenseless. Her pistols, her rifle, the defibrillator...

------

_Francis' memory suddenly surged forward. Within an instant, he remembered one of his many visits to the clinic as a young teen. Between his own recklessness, and his step father's abuse, he was a "regular customer." He remembered sitting in the waiting room one day, bored out of his mind as he waited for his turn to be called, reading the warning on the emergency defibrillator mounted to the wall._

_'Warning! Only qualified medical personnel should operate this device. Improper use will result in injury or death!'_

_Later he remembered making small talk with one of the cute nurses, asking about the warning on the defibrillator and how a device used to save lives could be so dangerous._

_"It can just as easily take a life as it can save one," __the pretty nurse explained. "__It uses an electric shock to 'jump start' a stopped heart. However, that same electric shock can cause a heart attack if used on an already beating heart. That's why it's very dangerous for a non-medical person to use. If you thought someone who was unconscious had a heart attack and you didn't check their pulse, you could very well kill them with that device. That's why only qualified medical staff..."  
_

_------  
_

Francis shook his head, clearing the memory. "Louis! Bill! Start the generator up, I'll handle the tank!!" The biker ordered.

"The hell you will son! You're too injur-" Bill started.

"God damn it just do it!" Francis nearly screamed.

Louis tugged Bill by the jacket. "C'mon, if anyone can distract that tank it's Francis. If we don't start that generator we're all finished!"

The war vet and the systems analyst ran outside as ordered, taking down some stragglers that just joined the party.

Francis ran towards Zoey's gear, but a sharp spike of pain cut his sprint short, the pain pills having finally worn off. Fuck! This wasn't the time...

_WHAM!_

"Aaaagghh! He's crushing me!" Zoey cried as the tank landed a blow to her ribs. She swore she felt something break as the tank roared again. She looked over to where Francis once stood, but he was gone.

_"Francis..." _she thought as her vision started to fade.

_"God damn it!" _Francis thought. He'd never scale the boxes in time, unless...

Francis quickly drew the adrenaline shot from his pocket, pulled the cap, slammed the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger. Withdrawing the needle, he suddenly felt stronger and faster than he'd ever felt before. He sprinted over to Zoey's gear and grabbed the defibrillator, flicking the switch to build a charge.

_WHAM!_

Francis slung the power pack over his shoulder, both shock paddles in his hands as he jumped up the boxes. As he clambered to the roof, he saw a light spatter of blood as the tank's next blow landed. Zoey wasn't yelling anymore.

"AAARRRRGGHHHHH!" Francis roared and rushed the back of the tank, cracking it hard with his elbow. The tank swung one massive arm around, nearly knocking the enraged biker off his feet, but he was faster. Francis ducked the swing as the tank's massive chest came into view. He'd have one chance at this...

**"****Clear motherfucker!"** He screamed as he slammed both paddles to the tank's chest and pressed the buttons. The defibrillator discharged...

The tank froze. It looked like it'd been stabbed in the heart.

The musclebound freak didn't even groan as he toppled over, lifeless. Francis breathed a sigh of relief, until he realized Zoey was unconscious.

"No! Zoey!" He yelled. "C'mon Zoey wake up! Please wake up!" He cried at her battered and lifeless form. She'd been hit pretty hard, her face adorned with bruises and blood leaking from her mouth. He checked for a pulse by her neck... nothing. He put his hand by her face; she wasn't breathing!

"C'mon Zoey! You're not checking out early!" He yelled as he lifted her pink hoodie above her chest, exposing her white longsleeve t-shirt. Thankfully there was no blood, but that didn't mean she wasn't bleeding internally. "Sorry sweetheart," he mumbled as he lifted her shirt up over her bosom, exposing her. Her torso was covered in dark purple bruises and she likely had a broken rib, but her stopped heart was the biggest concern. Francis placed the paddles just above the cups of her bra and said a silent prayer as he pressed the buttons once more...

------

Outside Louis was swearing a blue streak as he yanked the pull cord repeatedly. "Goddamnit! Start fuckin' generator... START!"

Bill caught a hunter between the eyes that was lurking on top of the warehouse, waiting to pounce. That damn generator needed to start soon. The longer they were out here-

"Sweet baby!" Louis cheered as the generator roared to life once more, the lights flickering on and the lift continuing it's descent with the precious escape vehicle. He turned to find Bill no longer at his side, but being dragged away by a Smoker's tongue only ten feet away, his aged hand trying in vain to tug the slippery noose free from his neck. Louis charged and cracked the tall lanky infected in the face, breaking his hold on the war vet who quickly rose to his feet and filled his attacker full of lead. The smoker died in a puff of smoke, but Bill and Louis were already long gone, running back towards the garage, the renewed cries of the damned already ringing in their ears.

------

Zoey coughed and gasped as her heart started beating again. Her vision was fuzzy and her head hurt like hell. The lights were back on but she still couldn't make out the towering form in front of her. For a moment she thought it was the tank, ready to finish her off.

"Thank God!" Francis nearly cried as he lifted her to her feet.

"Uugghh... I feel like... you look," she said in a half joke, mocking the biker once more. Francis smiled as helped her to her feet, but she was in no condition to walk. The tank had beaten and pounded her something awful.

"I knew you... wouldn't leave... m-," she half wheezed as she coughed up blood. Francis picked her up into his arms and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto Francis as though he would float away.

"Never. C'mon our ride's here." Francis noted as the lift finished it's decent. Louis and Bill were running in past either side of the vehicle, the roars of the infected echoing throughout the truck stop.

Francis grunted, carrying Zoey in his arms as he descended the boxes. Just as he reached the truck more infected were pouring in from everywhere. The survivors quickly piled in and slammed the rear door as the infected mass surrounded the heavy vehicle.

Louis rushed to the front to start the truck but couldn't find the keys. "FUCK! Where are the keys?" He yelled as he searched the ignition and the floor.

"I'll hold them off!" Bill said as he climbed into the mounted turret on the roof. He grinned like a little kid, remembering how destructive .50 caliber machine guns were. It wouldn't fire as fast as that mini-cannon but the bullets were easily ten times more deadly. Bill laughed heartily as the machine gun roared to life, unloading lead death on the charging commoners. Each shot ripped through the crowd like butter, knocking down entire groups before piercing the steel walls of the warehouse. The common infected were dropping like flies. He spotted another hunter who leapt for his position but landed right in front of the gun. He grinned sadistically as he pulled the trigger, turning the hooded freak into a mass of red gibs with a fresh shower of bullets.

------

Francis ignored the heavy pounding of the infected against the reinforced steel. All that mattered at the moment was Zoey. He'd carefully laid her across one of the padded benches that lined the wall of the monster truck, doing what he could with his first aid kit to patch her up.

Zoey smiled weakly and apologetically at him as her eyes fluttered shut. Sleep would feel so good right about now...

"No! Don't you give me that look! Hey! Stay with me!" he said as he lightly slapped her cheek, preventing her from closing her eyes. His voice was coming in muffled and intermittent.

"Please Zoey! I..." Francis stammered as he heaved her into a sitting position. He shook his head.. why did he feel so dizzy all of a sudden? "I... need...." he slurred, his vision going spotty. The adrenaline shot had worn off. His body had been through hell: Beaten, kicked, clawed, frozen, brought back from the edge of death, and tackled a tank. It was battered, it was tired, and it had enough.

"I... " he said before falling onto the truck floor. He stared lazily up at the roof then the underside of the bench where Zoey lay. His head was swimming.

"Zoey..." he whispered as his eyes fluttered shut.

Zoey's eyes snapped open as Francis' distressed words reached her ears. Though her body was screaming in painful protest, her heart was deathly afraid of losing him once again. "Nn.... no... Francis..." she groaned as she leaned over him from the bench. Suddenly the truck shifted, sending the college girl rolling off the bench, right onto the injured biker. Francis cried out from the impact, the pain jostling him back into semi-consciousness. His blurred vision cleared as the sheepishly smiling face of Zoey stared back at him.

"Sorry," she said with strain, while touching his face. "You can't sleep, you're not allowed..." Zoey said weakly, "You might have a... conc... concussion." She slurred, fighting to stay conscious herself. "Besides... I prefer... the bottom." She said with a sickly chuckle and a half-hearted wink. Francis grinned faintly at the sexual innuendo.

"You.. should talk... sleepyhead," he stammered out. He too was trying to fight falling unconscious and he was losing miserably. "I don't care... if I fall asleep... don't care who has... top or bottom... so long as you're... in my arms when... when I wake up." He finished. Every word felt like the deepest breath, though it probably didn't help that she was laying right on him.

Zoey was about to pass out but her heart was about to explode. Her vision was blurring over with tears, turning Francis' visage into a smudged watercolor. Her head was spinning and her heart was pounding. If it weren't for the fact that she'd nearly been beaten to death, she'd have figured her symptoms to be caused by love. Her vision was fading and Francis was a breath away from unconsciousness... they didn't have much time. Both of them stared at each other, their eyes saying what their mouths could not.

"Zoey..."

"Francis..."

They pressed their lips together in a display of mutual love and affection, murmuring contently. Francis' arms wrapped around her and Zoey's hands cupped his face as their tongues danced, sharing a final moment of happiness before the inevitable. The two survivors figured if these were the last moments they had left, there was no place they'd rather be than each other's arms.

------

As the wave of common infected were ripped apart by the .50 caliber gunfire, Bill heard the roar of another tank in the distance. He swiveled the gun towards the source. This tank took a more direct approach, deciding to crash straight through the chain link fence instead of climbing it, ripping it apart like tissue paper. Bill grinned as the tank charged into his sights. This fucker wouldn't know what hit him. He squeezed the trigger...

The gun jammed.

Bill's expression turned to a mask of terror.

"Louis! We need to bug out, NOW!" He yelled into the truck as he tugged on the bullet feed, trying to dislodge the jam. The tank had closed the distance and was smashing it's heavy fists into the truck's side, shifting it slightly but doing no damage to the reinforced plates.

Louis finally found the keys under the visor. Grinning he slammed the key into the ignition and attempted to turn the war beast over...

"Can't a brotha get a FUCKIN' BREAK?" He yelled in frustration as the vehicle stammered.

"Louis, we need to bug out NOW!" He heard Bill yell. Louis swore as he continued turning the key, the engine continuing to stutter. "Please... c'mon... c'mon baby... c'mon..." The engine refused to turn over.

"GOD DAMN IT!" He yelled as he threw his head down in frustration on the steering wheel.

The truck roared to life.

Louis looked up and let out a soft cry of delight as the diesel engine growled. His foot slammed the clutch as he threw it into gear. The truck lurched forward as Louis let off the clutch too quickly, causing it to stall. The tank, tired of pounding on the truck decided to climb on top and crush the old gunner instead. Bill panicked as the hulking form came into sight with a deafening roar. He yanked harder on the bullet feed.

"C'mon... c'mon!" Bill yelled as he yanked harder on the jammed feed.

"C'mon... c'mon!" Louis growled as he turned the truck over again. The engine roared to life once more and Louis floored it.

The truck lurched forward again, causing the tank to fall off the back and Bill to stagger, finally yanking the jammed bullet feed free. The tank roared in anger and lifted a huge chunk of concrete over its head, determined to stop its prey from escaping. Bill reloaded the feed and brought the tank in his sights.

The truck flew forward out of the garage with the sound of squealing tires on asphalt. Bill let fly with the .50 caliber gun, the bullets pulverizing the concrete over the tank's head into pebbles. The tank roared as it attempted to give chase, but Bill shifted his aim down. The bullets ripped through the tank like a witch's claws. In seconds it was reduced it to a massive quivering pile of muscle, blood, and hot lead.

"Ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaa! Ha ha ha!" Bill laughed in victory as the truck sped away. Louis turned left out of the garage and smashed through the chain link fence surrounding the truck stop. The truck hit the asphalt outside and roared as it barreled down the highway, leaving a trail of charging infected in the dust.

Bill came down from the gun turret, wiping the sweat from his brow. They'd escaped! He couldn't believe this bunch of green rookies would ever have made it, but they did! Every one of them with no casualti-

He froze mid-thought, staring at the unmoving forms of Francis and Zoey, laying in each other's arms on the truck's floor. _"Oh no..."_

"Louis," he said to the analyst who was busy driving full speed down the highway, knocking over whatever infected happened to be wandering into the street. "There's a military base about ten miles from here."

"Yeah I know, right up this highway. Then we get off at exit-" Louis said excitedly before Bill cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Glad you know the way. Hurry." Bill said with a grave edge to his voice. Louis paused, then nodded in understanding as he pressed the pedal to the floor. The huge reinforced war beast ate up the asphalt like popcorn as they raced against time.

.

* * *

.

"..........ncis....... ke up......"

_"Rggh.... what? What happened?"_

"C'mo..... cis..... wa... up..."

_"Wha? Who's? So familiar..."_

"...buddy.... ak up..."

_The hell? Who?  
_

"Wake up... lease Fran.... ake up!"

_"Zoey!"_

"Wha?!" Francis snapped awake. He was in what appeared to be a small makeshift hospital room. The room felt unnaturally bright with all the fluorescent lighting and white walls. Standing by the bedside was Bill and Louis, both with a lot of bandages but not appearing much worse for the wear. Louis smiled, happy that Francis was awake.

"Welcome back buddy!" Louis said with a cheesy grin. Francis noticed he was wearing a fresh pair of clothes. Bill appeared to be as well, save for the blood stained army beret atop his head.

"We thought you kids were done for," Bill said as he approached Francis' bedside, a white bandage wrapped around his head, peaking out from his beret. "Good thing this army base was close by or you two might've died in each other's arms."

"Zoey! Where is she? Is she allright?" Francis yelled, sitting up suddenly. Bad idea. His vision went spotty as he collapsed back onto the bed. He was still so weak. It was then he realized he had an IV bag dripping into his arm. Probably a saline solution... spiked with a little morphine.

"Here buddy, let me help." Louis said, reaching for the control for the bed. Using the buttons he brought the bed into a partial sitting position, lifting Francis up a bit so he could look around.

"Thanks brother," Francis said as the door clicked open. "But where's Zoey?" He then noticed someone dressed in a somewhat form-fitting white nurse's uniform entering the room. Squinting against the bright artificial light, she appeared to be limping a little but was carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water. Bill and Louis grinned as she entered, setting the tray down by Francis' bedside. She was a vision of beauty in white to the tired biker.

"Right on cue," Bill said with a chuckle.

"Zoey..." he sighed with relief. "I'm so glad you're all right, but... why are you wearing a nurse's outfit?"

She giggled, "Do you like it?" She attempted a spin to show it off and nearly lost her balance. It was apparent she was still badly injured. "Ohh... ok won't be doing that for a while," she said, regaining her balance.

"I... I love it," he stammered. Wait? Did he just say he loved something in front of his friends? He looked over at Bill and Louis who both smiled at him. Ah what did it matter? He could care less what they thought of him. He loved Zoey, and he was pretty sure she loved him.

"I promised myself I would be your personal nurse when we got out of that nightmare, because _you_ need rest!" She said in an admonishing tone, while leaning over to kiss his forehead. "I'm going to personally see to it that you make a full recovery."

"But Zoey you shouldn't be doing this. You nearly got the life pounded out of you, and you're not even close to 100% either," Francis said, his concern causing his "nurse" to blush.

"Damn right. I _hate_ stubborn patients," a new voice said. The four survivors turned to the new person entering the room. She appeared to be in her early 40's and was dressed in scrubs and a white lab coat, with a lapel badge indicating she was a doctor. The doctor was tall, about six feet, with long, light brown hair tied into a loose ponytail that was slung over her right shoulder. Her light brown eyes appeared alert, yet haggard, as though they'd seen a lifetime of suffering. The crows feet under her eyes may have been induced by age, but Francis guessed it had more to do with the stress of her job. Her light olive colored face was busy reading a medical chart as she approached the survivors.

"Dr. Ackart insisted Zoey rest, but... well you know Zoey." Louis said with a chuckle, looking the doctor, who appeared rather engaged in her chart. Bill nodded as well, while Zoey simply glared at the look of disapproval the doctor shot her way. It was obvious the doctor was unhappy about the college girl's insistent desire to be up and about rather than resting.

"Indeed. I was assigned as her and Bill's physician when they were brought in a few days ago, and I'll be replacing Dr. Eckhart as your physician... Louis," She said curtly, looking over to the dark man shaking his hand. "And you... Mr..." She paused, looking over his chart. "...Francis?" She said slowly lowering the chart, staring at the biker.

"Yeah, well I'm going to be a doctor myself someday and Francis doesn't seem to mind..." Zoey's sentence died in her throat as she and Bill and Louis noticed the way Francis and Dr. Ackart were staring at each other.

Francis was in shock, his jaw hanging open. He couldn't take his eyes off her, as though she were a cool glass of water in a parched desert.

Dr. Ackart was gazing at him, hands clasped, her eyes aglow with disbelief, her lower lip trembling.

Bill and Louis cocked an eyebrow at the awkward silence, but Zoey felt her blood pressure rising. Her face was turning red as her temper started to flare.

Dr. Ackart broke into a sob and threw her arms around the Biker, who in turn hugged her as tightly as he'd held Zoey when they thought their lives were about to end tragically in the back of the rescue vehicle.

Zoey was fuming, and just about to grab the tray of hot soup and throw it over the hugging couple.

"Sis!" Francis cried into her shoulder, fresh tears flooding from his eyes.

"Francis! My dear sweet little brother..." Dr. Ackart sobbed as she kissed him repeatedly on the forehead and cheeks. "I thought I'd never see you again!" Deep within Francis' memory he recalled his visit with the spirit of the future, witnessing his sister and her daughter as just two more victims of the virus. He couldn't believe he was hugging his sister after fifteen long years.

Zoey let out a very visible sigh of relief, while Bill and Louis chuckled at the college student's display of intense jealousy. She glared at her two companions, causing both of them to look away, trying to hide their giggles.

The reunited siblings stared at each other, taking in the changes time and events had inflicted upon them both. Her brother looked older, handsome, and tempered, as though he'd been through a trial by fire. Then again, she supposed all of them had been through such a trial since they were the last known survivors to have reached the base in the last week. Francis couldn't believe how much older his sister looked, despite being only five years his senior. She was still as beautiful as he'd remembered, but she too was weathered by the more recent events the world had been subjected to.

"I'm so sorry Francis! I'm so sorry I didn't take you with me, I wanted to but..." Francis shushed his sister with a smile.

"Don't apologize, you did what you had to. Besides, if I'd gone with you I'd never have met them," he said, gesturing to his friends, "...or her," he said smiling at Zoey who blushed a deep crimison. His sister looked like she was on the verge of crying again.

The biker couldn't stand to see that, so he quickly changed the subject. "How's your daughter?" He blurted out, thinking of the niece he'd never met. His sister looked at him in puzzlement.

"Uhh... how did you know I...?" His sister started to ask.

"Lucky guess," Francis said quickly. "I mean c'mon, I knew you would find someone wonderful and raise a family. I guess I just assumed on the 'daughter' part."

His sister chuckled, shaking her head at her brother's compliment. "Yes I do and she's doing just fine. She's in the civilian area with the other kids and her father." Francis nodded, he always knew his sister would find someone, he only prayed he wasn't a prick like their step-dad.

"I can't wait to meet my niece," he said as he coughed, his chest still hurt like hell. "Not to mention meet the brother-in-law. I need to make sure he's worthy of being with my sister." His sister laughed while Zoey lightly punched him in the shoulder.

"The family reunion will have to wait a few days, Francis," the doctor said, gently touching his face, still in disbelief that her brother was alive and well... or as well as one could be. "You're still under recovery and kids carry all kinds of germs. The last thing we need is you catching a cold. Not to mention you're in no condition to play the 'protective brother' for your older sister," she finished with a smile.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure Francis stays right here," Zoey said with a sly grin, poking him once in the chest and shooting him a wink. Francis couldn't stop smiling. It was as though everything in his life had finally fallen into place.

"I'm sure you will.." Dr. Ackart said with a sigh, a bit of the "protective older sister" complex coming out in her voice.

Zoey noticed and gently hugged Francis, kissing him once on the cheek. "I promise to do everything to take care of him, but I won't overwork myself. I just want to spend as much time with him as I can," she said, turning to the doctor. "It's just... I want to get to know him better. We've spent so much time together but we don't really know anything about each other."

Francis' sister nodded in understanding, realizing the feelings were mutual as her brother smiled at his "nurse." It was clear to everyone in the room that the two of them were going to become inseparable.

Bill causally cleared his throat, "Well Louis, what say we go look around the base?"

Louis nodded in the affirmative, "I'd like to see if there's a shooting range. Say doc, wanna show us around?"

Dr. Ackart smiled, "Anything for Francis' friends." She shot a smile at her brother and his "nurse." "I'll be back to check on you two," she said with a slightly coy tone in her voice as the three headed out the door.

As the door closed with a quiet click, Zoey half sat on Francis' hospital bed, hugging him tightly.

"Merry Christmas Zoey," he said, holding her close.

"Merry Christmas Francis." She said quietly, enjoying his presence. "Did you get everything you wanted?" She asked with a smile as she pulled away to stare at him with her deep blue eyes.

"Yeah, I got _everyone _I wanted," He replied, gently touching her cheek and staring back at her with his light brown orbs.

The two survivors kissed tenderly as they held each other. Outside the snow continued to fall, covering the dead and the destruction with a blanket of sparkling white purity. Like the changing of seasons, the world would emerge from this destruction, hopefully a bit wiser for the wear. Francis didn't know if the world would change for the better or for the worse from this apocalypse, but one thing was certain...

He would never be the same.

And he couldn't be happier.

.

----The End----

.

A/N: Ok I'm holding my breath in anticipation here. What'd you think? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Please click the green button. Reviews make me smile.


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